The Balance of Wings
by Epiphany sola Gratia
Summary: A year after the Blight, Alistair is king and struggling with his responsibilities and his personal losses. While undertaking a diplomatic mission into the Cauldron valley, things do not go as planned.  He meets a woman who helps change his perspective.
1. Prologue: Svenya and the Black Swan

_Disclaimer: Alistair from __Dragon Age: Origins__ and the world of Thedas belong to Bioware. They in turn inspire me to write and expand the vision they have created within my mind. For that I am grateful. As a result I have written a story that attempts to capture the feelings that the game inspired in me through the use of interludes that capture the feel of the codex and cameos of many of the characters that players fell in love with in the game, at the same time making my own interpretation of the world and belief systems therein. _

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**The Balance of Wings**

_**Prologue: Svenya and the Black Swan**_

_**Folktale**_

_Not all beings of the Fade are evil. Some are just and can be moved with compassion for the suffering of mortals. Thus was it in the story of Svenya._

_Svenya was betrothed by her father to a powerful lord and did not meet this lord until the day of the wedding. On that fateful day, the first time she looked on her husband she was greatly distressed. Though he was physically perfect in form and handsome in face, she could tell from the gleam of his black eyes that he was cruel and unkind, but being a woman and bound by the oaths of her father she had to go forward with her marriage. _

_In the years that followed she suffered in silence under the persecution of her husband, causing her to feel completely alone and helpless. Many nights she cried herself to sleep, but even in her sleep she had no relief and often her troubles followed her into her dreams. _

_One night, after a particularly bad beating by her husband, Svenya went to sleep and dreamed of a vast lake in a clearing surrounded by trees and shrouded with mist. It was so peaceful that Svenya sat at the water's edge and dangled her feet in the water. She was just about to completely surrender to the peace when suddenly the trees behind her combusted and roared into flame. The woods were on fire and she was trapped between them and the water. Unable to swim, Svenya desperately dove into the water to escape the burning woods that suddenly seemed to crackle and shriek with the same voice as her husband. _

_She allowed the water to swallow her and assumed that she would die there, but she comforted herself with the thought that at least it would be peaceful here and closed her eyes. Just as she thought her spirit would leave her, she felt herself lifted through the water and floating to the surface. She opened her eyes to find that she was riding the back of a great black swan._

_She realized in that moment that she had crossed into the Fade, so Svenya was not surprised when the swan suddenly spoke to her, "Evil has followed you to the threshold of my peaceful home. What is this that has pursued you?"_

"_It is the wrath of my husband," Svenya explained, "it persecutes me always, even in my dreams beyond the borders of the Fade."_

"_I see," answered the swan with a voice of compassion, "I have no strong power beyond the Fade, but he cannot pursue you here. Stay and rest for as long as you like. If you need it I offer sanctuary." _

"_Thank you," breathed Svenya into the softness of the down at swan's long black neck._

"_However, there are rules that you must follow," the Black Swan warned. "You must be careful not to pass to the far side of the mist on the water. That is the border between the Fade and the Land of the Dead. I often help carry souls to the other side when it is their time, but it is not your time yet. If I were to carry you I would be interfering in the natural progression of life that the Maker has laid out for everyone. To trespass beyond that border would result in dire consequences for both me and you."_

_Svenya nodded solemnly, "I accept the terms and promise to follow the laws of the Fade and the world beyond."_

_With that promise, Svenya had a place to retreat to in her sleep where the terror of her husband could not touch her. As time progressed, the peace that pervaded her sanctuary pervaded her waking life as well, in spite of her husband's cruelty and continued abuse. It even enabled her to share that peace and compassion with those around her, particularly those others who her husband victimized. _

_Her husband watched her transform before him from a timid creature into a strong and compassionate woman. Regardless of how badly he beat or abused her, she remained kind and constantly reached out to those around her, even if it caused her further abuse. His people began to love her more than they feared him, and she had a quiet form of power among them that he regarded with jealousy. He tried to come up with ways to discover her secret of limitless peace. He had her followed wherever she went and had women try to gain her confidence so that they could report back to him. The spies that he sent to her, however, also began to flourish under her kindness and came to love her as well, even to the point where they would not report back to the lord and ran away or chose to die for disobedience to avoid being forced to inform the lord of anything that might enable him to harm her._

_Becoming desperate in his anger, realizing he would never discover her secret through guile and knowing he could not openly kill her without starting a rebellion among his people or hurting his alliance with her family, he locked her away in a tower of his home, isolating her from the company of other people. The only person she had contact with was the deaf, mute woman he arranged to bring Svenya bread and water and wait on her, assuming that since this woman could not hear or speak that she was beyond his wife's influence. _

_Once again, he was wrong, and though the woman could not hear or speak to Svenya, she was still touched by Svenya's kindness through her gentle actions and the servant was completely devoted to her. Eventually the servant offered through gestures to help Svenya escape from the prison, but Svenya refused knowing that her husband might possibly kill the servant in his rage and she did not wish to bring evil upon the woman. Instead Svenya accepted the servant's company, teaching her to read and write so that they could better communicate, even going so far as to reveal some of the secrets the black swan imparted to her through its compassion. Over time, Svenya even discovered a way to restore the servant's voice and hearing. Though they tried to carefully conceal this fact from Svenya's husband, one day the sounds of their singing and laughter wafted on the breeze to the courtyard below when he was stalking about and he heard the joy that he could not seem to destroy._

_When her husband discovered that he had once again been foiled by Svenya's kindness, he fumed and in the blackness of his rage he decided to execute the servant and wall up the door leading into the tower so that Svenya could no longer receive food or contact from others. He cruelly informed Svenya of his intentions and built the gallows for the servant underneath the main window of the tower so that Svenya could witness the death of her faithful friend. The night before the scheduled execution, Svenya went to sleep and retreated to the sanctuary of the Black Swan. _

_Weeping, she begged the Black Swan to help release her from life and allow her to accompany her servant to the other side of the veil between the Fade and the Land of the Dead. The Black Swan, with deep regret, reiterated as it did the first time that it could not help her to cross over before her time. Svenya wept even more piteously as if her heart would break and the swan, though it could not break the law, was moved to even deeper compassion._

_The Black Swan told Svenya there might be a way to save the servant from death. Though the swan had very little power in the waking world, it might be able to gather enough strength to intervene through Svenya, but it would require a great sacrifice on her part. Svenya listened patiently to the swan's plan and eagerly agreed to the required price in the hopes of saving her friend from her husband._

_The next morning the servant woman was led to the scaffold to be hanged, surrounded by many of the peasants of the land and with Svenya's husband looking on smugly, knowing that this would break Svenya's kind heart as she watched helplessly from the tower. He prattled off a list of crimes before the people, though they all knew as well as he that they were lies and the servant was innocent. The guards roughly placed the noose around the servant's neck and were about to push her from the platform when suddenly a great black shadow flew down from the window of the tower, swooping just over the heads of the guards and Svenya's husband. In their terror by the sudden appearance of what they assumed was an evil spirit, the men scattered and ran for cover. A peasant man plucked up his courage, ran forward and untied the servant, helping her to escape amid the confusion. After that, many of the peasants hid the poor woman and smuggled the servant away from the lord's lands out of their love for Svenya._

_The black shadow, once it had inspired its chaos, returned to the tower from whist it came unnoticed because of all the confusion. For many days nothing stirred at the window and Svenya's singing could not be heard in the courtyard. After a month, Svenya's husband, assuming that she had died in her loneliness and grief over losing her friend, ordered that the wall over the door be broken down so that he could confirm that she had died. Once all the brick and mortar had been removed, he entered the tower and walked proudly up the tower steps alone, congratulating himself the entire time for being clever and defeating Svenya._

_However, when he entered Svenya's room at the top of the tower, her body was nowhere to be seen. He looked everywhere and could find no trace of her. His rage began to boil within him again and he swore, and cursed, and tugged his beard in frustration. He believed that she had somehow escaped him and that he had been betrayed by his people. He yelled that he would execute every last man, woman and child in the surrounding village until they revealed where she had escaped to and continued to fume until his ranting was interrupted by a jarring cry from the window. He spun around to see a large black swan sitting on the window sill. Honking it shook its head and beat its great wings at him, as if scolding him for his cruel plans. Without thinking, still in a rage, Svenya's husband charged at the bird with the intent of killing it, but it flew into the air and the lord stumbled forward, unable to stop his momentum, throwing himself out the window, screaming until hitting the courtyard below with a sickening thud. The swan disappeared as it flew to the east, never to be seen again._

_A distant relative of the lord came and took over his lands. Unfortunately he was not much better than the first lord, but thankfully he wasn't as extreme in his cruelty. Many of the neighboring lords heard of what happened and some believed that someone had used blood magic to curse the lord and inadvertently caused his death. These beliefs made the nobility far more superstitious, but the peasants knew that there was no evil done to the lord, but the revisiting of the evil he did to others. These people told their children about the black swan and they believe that the swan was actually Svenya who chose to sacrifice her human form in order to save her friend and live out the rest of her days as a bird who could freely travel beyond the borders of her earthly prison._


	2. Chapter 1: Devoted & Reluctant King

**Chapter 1: The Devoted, Though Reluctant, King**

**_Alistair_**

It was such a relief to be escaping the palace in Denerim again. I know this was not what Arl Eamon Guerrin had in mind when he recommended that we open up discussions with the more isolated arldoms in the northwest. Hidden within a few adjoining valleys, surrounded by the Frostback Mountains, were a series of narrow freeholds of land and a scattering of mountain Avvarian villages that people referred to as the Cauldron. The Cauldron freeholds were divided and governed by three arls who maintained order and was the first line of protection between Ferelden and Orlais. These smaller freeholds had been out of touch for a worryingly long time. When we had the Landsmeet that decided that I would reign over Ferelden, we were missing the Arls of Swidden, Herfirien and Cloughbark of the Cauldron. Also, they did not send aid during the Blight so it was unclear if they had been overrun or wiped out. Communications to the court had been irregular during the best of times, but with all of the upheaval over the past months it had literally disappeared. Now that Denerim and some of the closer arldoms were stable and on the mend, it was an ideal time to reopen communications with a visit. Arl Eamon had mentioned it to me with the intent that I should send a delegation into the mountains, but I jumped at the chance to get away for a time, reasoning that as king I should familiarize myself with all lands within the realm.

He grudgingly accepted my reasoning, but he made it a point to also address my lack of a wife, "You have a responsibility to choose a queen and make an alliance that will further stabilize Ferelden's monarchy."

This was an even more pressing reason for me to leave and escape into the mountains. I had a number of the area arls throwing their daughters or nieces at me in hopes that I would choose among them. Arl Eamon had even thrown out the possibility of creating an alliance with another country to improve the peace, but his brother, Bann Teagan, vetoed that thinking. He stated that an alliance outside Ferelden nobility might be seen as insulting, create ill-will within the kingdom and undermine the cooperation we had been cultivating. So Arl Eamon started praising the graces of Lady Andra Landoese; it was all that I could do to keep from cringing and sinking under the table. They reminded me of a pair of old matchmakers clucking and muttering over possible marriages.

"I will have to look into that when I return from the Northwest," I assured Eamon and Teagan, getting up from the table and backing slowly towards the door, keeping them both within my eyesight, "now I will take my leave of you and go prepare for my journey. I wish to leave before the week is out."

Arl Eamon nodded, quite aware of what I was doing, "If it is alright with you, I would recommend that you take Ser Simon Grey with you, as well as five or six other knights."

"Yes, yes," I acquiesced, desperate to remove myself from their clutches before they thought of something else, "I will take Ser Grey with me and enough knights to deal with any difficulties on the road, but not so many that the arls perceive it as a threat."

"Ah," Eamon conceded with a smile, "you are starting to sound more and more kingly with each passing day. Don't worry about things here. Never forget, Alistair, `Nobility does not exist without obligation. We owe all we have…'"

"`even our lives, to our land and our people.'" I finished just before I closed the door behind me with a sigh of relief.

I did truly agree with Arl Eamon's sentiments and molded my rule in answer to those specific ideals, even giving up the love of my life in order to meet my kingly obligations. Though it was almost a year later, thoughts of marriage stung and I often wondered how things could have been different if I had not become king - if Anora were ruling instead of me. Then again, in order to defeat the archdemon one of us had to make a sacrifice and my love had opted to make that sacrifice for Ferelden…and for me; regardless of what I chose, or whether I was king or not, one of us had to die for the good of all.

Maker's breath, I knew quite acutely what obligation required.

Rather than think about it further, I set off to find Ser Grey and organize a detail of knights to accompany Teagan back to Redcliff and stock up on supplies before making the push over the Frostback Mountains. The more I planned, the more eager I became to leave. I had never traveled beyond those mountains, though I had familiarized myself with them by examining maps and reading descriptions of them in books. Most descriptions merely focused on the fact that the kingdom of Orlais began not far beyond, brushing over the small Ferelden arldoms themselves.

Ser Grey, the knight Eamon recommended to be my bodyguard for such trips, had proven himself in battle, was a phenomenal strategist, and was unfailingly loyal to Arl Eamon Guerrin and Ferelden_. _Even though he never said anything about it, I got the feeling that he slightly disapproved my behavior at times, but he accepted his duties without complaint and was always reliable. In everything he was above reproach. Secretly I wished he had something that made him less than perfect. It was intimidating to be around such a paragon of virtue.

I finally found Ser Simon Grey in the sparring room on the South side of Fort Drakon. Walking in I saw him immediately, working on forms with Ser Hadrian Forthwind, a younger knight from the Bannorn area that Grey had taken it upon himself to mentor. Grey fit his name well, with granite gray hair cropped closely above stony eyes. Even his personality seemed gray and foreboding and it greatly contrasted the exuberance of his sparring partner with his red hair and freckled complexion, looking more like a young farm boy than a seasoned knight. While the younger knight had passion and swung his sword with vigor, Grey's powerful, clean swings showed accuracy and would be far more dangerous to an opponent. I paused a moment to watch them.

"Lift that elbow, farm boy," bellowed Grey dispassionately as he stayed just beyond Forthwind's reach with each successive swing.

Forthwind laughed enthusiastically as he doggedly continued forward, "I will get you yet, old man."

"Old?" Grey asked, equally dispassionately. I cringed on Forthwind's behalf because I could feel what was coming next even before I saw Grey's legs tense to spring. Suddenly Grey rolled forward like an unstoppable boulder, past the hole in Forthwind's defenses, knocking the young knight to the floor and causing his sword to fly at least five feet to his right. Standing over his vanquished opponent, Grey shook his head grimly, "You need to continue working on maintaining your defenses and less on swinging. Swinging won't prevent a well placed blow to your gut."

Forthwind conceded with a smile as Grey gave him a hand up. That was what I could never completely fathom with Forthwind, even if Grey had chosen to insult him and beat him like a dog, he would have smiled and thanked him for his guidance. I wondered if I had ever been like that with Duncan, but it all seemed so long ago that I couldn't quite remember. It had taken a Blight and the whole of Ferelden's Gray Wardens being wiped out to cause me to grow up. Distantly I hoped that is not what it would take for Forthwind, but I had come for more important matters.

"Ser Grey," I stated, sounding more regal than I felt around this older, more experienced knight, "I am in need of your assistance. We need to arrange for a retinue to travel to the Northwestern Ferelden territories on a diplomatic mission. We will leave before the week is out and I need at least six knights to accompany me."

Grey inclined his head in a bow to acknowledge me before confirming, "Arl Guerrin had informed me of this possible mission almost two weeks ago and I have already begun preparations, I only lacked your leave to formalize it."

Vaguely I was not surprised that this had happened, though it caused me chagrin. Arl Eamon was always five steps ahead of me and I accepted that with a certain amount of grace, though he usually did it in such a subtle way that it never seemed to undermine my authority; to have Grey make such plans without me, however, made me feel like I was merely playing at being king. How much trust did these men have in my abilities? Probably not much more than what I already gave to myself reluctantly. Making a mental note to remedy this in the future, I pushed forward with as much confidence as I could muster, "Good. I'm glad I can rely on you. This will be a most important trip and I look forward to having a decent `stretch of the legs.'"

Grey did not share my enthusiasm, though he did not disapprove of the proposed trip. Though I offered my preferences, Grey handpicked the rest of the knights for our retinue. He chose Ser Barnard Siggers, Ser Emery Wymann, Ser Mungo Allnatt, Ser Pascal Eddols, Ser Ingram Hulbert and Ser Hadrian Forthwind. What Grey lacked in enthusiasm Forthwind made up, resembling a Marbari pup. He was honored to be allowed to go and confided that he hoped I would have a chance to regale him with tales of the Gray Wardens, for he secretly dreamed of becoming one some day and felt he could learn from my vast experience. I was torn between feeling slightly overwhelmed by his esteem and flattered by it. I already knew that it wasn't as romantic an undertaking as he seemed to believe, but I respected his tenacity.

We made our arrangements over the next days before we left Denerim for Redcliff and Ser Eddols assisted greatly in orchestrating some of the minor details. By Ser Eddols suggestion, we travelled in full armor with helmets. He reasoned that it would be harder for outsiders to differentiate between us and I might go unnoticed. If the people did not know that the king was riding out we would hit fewer delays and would be less likely to be targeted by anyone wishing me harm. Ser Grey highly approved of his suggestion because it would make the trip between Denerim and Redcliff quicker.

"See," Ser Grey observed to me, nodding to the petite man with the hawk nose who rested his chin on his hand as he carefully reviewed the maps that we would follow, "this is why Ser Eddols is an excellent choice for the retinue. Though he appears to lack power with his smaller size, he can see all of the angles and thinks much the way I do. Regardless of what we face along the way, we can face any difficulty."

So the following day we rode out with Teagan in attendance and minimal attention. Arl Eamon assured me that he would keep things in order in Denerim while Teagan managed affairs at Redcliff. All of Ferelden stretched before us and I couldn't help but smile to myself as I rode through the gates and relished the open air outside of the palace.

As predicted, the ride to Denerim was uneventful and we made it there without incident. After seeing Teagan delivered to Redcliff castle, we stopped at the Chantry for the appropriate blessings, had the blacksmith check our horses' shoes for the long ride ahead and ordered a round at the local tavern. Ser Wyman, a devout follower of Andraste, abstained from drinking in following a vow he had made many years before in order to keep his body pure and his mind clear for contemplation. Instead he chose a stool in the corner to peruse a holy writ that he always kept on his person.

Ser Siggers, a big, burly knight with black hair, laughed at him with good natured humor, "Purity? A good ale can purify the body from the inside out!" He then proceeded to extol the antiseptic virtues of alcohol while attempting to drink Ser Allnatt and Ser Hulbert under the table. Though Allnatt and Hulbert were able in body, they did not stand a chance against Ser Sigger's girth and had to surrender to our more boisterous comrade after a few rounds for fear of passing out. It had been so long since I had been in such pleasant company that I couldn't help getting caught up in it as well. Meanwhile Ser Forthwind struck up a conversation with a bard that he had discovered passing time in the tavern.

Coming into contact with a bard was unusual in Ferelden, since bards had been more plentiful during the Orlesian occupation and had since thinned out. Bards had a reputation for being spies or couriers and tended to flock to castles and were sponsored by lords. From what I had been told by my former companion Leliana, who had once been an Orlesian bard, it had become harder to be a bard in Orlais as well because of the lack of trust that the entire occupation had been afforded.

What made this bard even more atypical was not that she was a woman, but that she wore a dark green mask over the upper part of her face, only allowing her mouth and chin to show and her brown eyes peered out through eye slits. Her brown hair was neatly braided and she was modestly dressed in rough breeches and a plain tunic, which implied that she was probably accustomed to travelling. She kept her bag in plain sight at her feet. Initially she had been singing a ballad softly, accompanying herself on a mandolin. I was not close enough in order to accurately judge the quality of her voice, but Ser Forthwind sidled closer to request another song about an ancient battle and, once his request had been performed, he began to speak with her in deepest earnest, asking questions about her travels and then asking if she knew any exciting stories about the Gray Wardens. Ser Forthwind appeared intrigued by her, if not openly smitten, to the point that he ignored the comely serving wenches who were vying for his attention. The bard did not encourage nor discourage him, but merely nodded and listened to him respectfully as he gushed.

It was Grey who finally interrupted the pair's interactions, barking sternly, "Come lad, we have a long journey over the mountains starting tomorrow and we cannot waste a night of sleep to listen to a song and some well-turned tales." With no more than a disapproving glare and a nod to acknowledge the bard, he turned and stalked toward the door, heading to our inn in the heart of the village.

Ser Forthwind, confused but slightly chastened, took a hasty leave of the bard and followed Grey. The bard watched the entire proceedings with a neutral eye and seemed to accept Grey's actions without offense. She went back to strumming her mandolin and paid no mind to anyone else in the tavern until we left later that evening. As we walked out of the door I caught sight of her out of the corner of my eye. She had paused in her playing and was looking at us, almost as if she were memorizing our movements, her head cocked thoughtfully to the side.

I would have given anything in that moment to better see the face under the mask so I could read her expression, to better know the thoughts roiling in those eyes. It also occurred to me that my face was also obscured by a helmet. Even if both of our faces were completely bare to one another, what is to say we would not be wearing a different sort of mask? I had known some in my lifetime whom I trusted only to discover no one truly knew them.

Before turning in for the night, I made it a point to ask Ser Grey why he had been so keen on tearing Ser Forthwind away from the bard. His reply was, "Bards are nothing but trouble. Even if she were completely harmless and intended no ill will, that boy has enough foolish romantic fancies floating around under that red hair of his. He does not need the kind of encouragement that ridiculous war songs and ballads provide."

I understood Ser Grey's concern over Forthwind's naiveté and knew that he was probably right, but I couldn't help feeling that he had been slightly harsh. I decided it was best to leave it be and didn't pursue it further that night.

Early the next morning, while it was still dark and the moon still glanced down at us with the benevolence of a smiling woman we saddled our horses and prepared to ride out. We had decided in advance on a marching order to better watch the roads as we travelled through the mountains. Ser Grey rode with Ser Eddols, Ser Wyman and Ser Siggers came next, Ser Forthwind was my partner and Sers Hulbert and Allnatt brought up the rear. Our armor and weapons were secured before we saddled up. The streets were still deserted and Ser Grey had already rode ahead with the others when we heard a distinctly feminine voice remark from a shadow to our right, "Hold good knights, but I think the blacksmith might have made a mistake when shoeing your horses."

Ser Forthwind and I halted our horses and saw the masked bard, who seemed to appear out of nowhere, at Ser Forthwind's side. She gently patted his horse's side and ran her hand gently down the horse's leg closest to her, "Perhaps you did not notice, but your steed is favoring his right flank. Please, don't bother to dismount. I will gladly check the animal's shoe for you, with your leave of course." The entire time she spoke she continued to brace herself against the horse's side and gently lifted its hoof off the ground, appearing to thoroughly inspect it. While Ser Forthwind watched her without complaint, I placed my hand on the hilt of the sword. Woman or no, she could have been distracting us with the intent to cause harm. The others were already far enough ahead that they were unaware of what was happening and Hulbert and Allnatt were still focused on adjusting their saddles before mounting their steeds.

Finally, after a moment she allowed the horse to put down its hoof and shrugged, "I may have been mistaken. Your horse seems fine." With that she backed away from us, keeping her hands in full view and her head bowed, hiding her eyes, "Forgive my interference, my red knight, but you are travelling with one who plans to betray you. Remain wary." With that she was gone, lost to view within the shadows.


	3. Chapter 2: The Masked Bard

**Chapter 2: The Masked Bard**

**_Svenya_**

Perhaps it would have been safer if I had chosen to say nothing. Perhaps it would have come to nothing regardless of what I said. Perhaps I had been hasty or mistaken. "Perhaps" is a pregnant word, but too unreliable to hang any surety on it.

Redcliff had been a natural stopping place before continuing my journey over the Frostback Mountains to Cloughbark. I needed to stock up on supplies in order to make the trip and I felt it was better to sleep that night in a bed, since the Maker alone knew when I would get another chance. Stopping at the tavern overlooking the village on an outcropping below the keep's high perch, I had hoped to perhaps inspire someone to provide me with extra funds in exchange for a story or a song. The evening had started slow enough, gaining me a few coppers from some of the locals who frequented the place after their daily chores were done and I assumed that it would be an uneventful night until a group of eight soldiers entered and ordered drinks. They wore fine, heavy armor and only after sitting down did they remove their helmets and begin to speak. One of them, a mousy, thoughtful man refrained from taking alcohol and thumbed some holy writ. He was flanked by an older man with a gray beard and another man with neatly trimmed, sandy colored whiskers. These two men were somber and quietly discussed something over a rolled out parchment that they had laid across the table, away from the rest the band. This behavior initially caused me to think that they were Templars whom had come to inspect the Chantry or were hunting apostates. However, the others seemed too worldly in their speech and manner so I abandoned that assumption.

A dark, bombastic knight who towered above his fellows challenged two of the others to a drinking contest and they dutifully (if not enthusiastically) complied. A third, fairer soldier looked on, chuckling softly to himself over the large knight's oaths and exclamations to the competitors. This soldier carefully nursed his own tankard, more concerned with watching the proceedings as an observer and laughing openly. The three drinking soldiers probably soaked their beards with as much ale as they managed to pour down their throats and it was all I could do to maintain my composure and not laugh myself. Hoping that my luck had changed for the better, I started to play a ballad about a soldier bidding farewell to his lady in an attempt to curry favor with the new comers.

Shortly I caught the attention of the red haired, clean shaven soldier who appeared to be the youngest of the lot. He moved his seat closer to me and stopped conversing with his companions in order to listen to my song and while he listened, a soft, dreaming look shifted into his face that one only sees on young men. Obviously he had not seen enough battle to embitter him to life and it made me smile. Few men had that look anymore since the Blight and it refreshed something in my weariness, causing me to play my best in order to cultivate that look further. Soon he was requesting songs and asking for stories about the Gray Wardens and other tales about battles past and I scoured my brain in order to comply, though I needn't have bothered for, by the end, he was doing most of the talking and I merely sat and listened to him. The serving wenches shot me murderous looks since he continued to ignore them in favor of me which, I must admit, thrilled me. It had been so long since I had inspired such attentiveness from any man with my face concealed by my mask in public. Such admiration threatened to flatter me to the point of forgetting myself, however I knew better and I was careful not to flirt with him, though I welcomed his company.

The evening might have continued pleasantly like this if the old, frowning soldier had not interrupted and bullied the red soldier away from me. Looking like a gray-maned lion, the older knight approached abruptly and addressed the young man, stating in a rumbling voice that they had a journey to make over the mountains and needed to sleep. In his actions he pointedly ignored me, save for a brief, disapproving nod of dismissal. On hearing the growls that the old lion rumbled, the young man shook himself slightly, as if waking from a dream, apologized to me for leaving and followed after him. Normally I would have been more upset at his failure to leave me some coin after having spent over two hours entertaining him, but I couldn't bring myself to be angry at the young soldier or even at the rude old soldier who obviously disapproved of me. The red haired soldier with a face full of promise, much like my Collin had before we had married, had done me some palatable good with his presence and I smiled, though I was just as coin poor as I had been before he had arrived.

The rest of the evening I was in the tavern playing and tuning my instrument while keeping my ears attentive to the other soldiers who had been left behind. At one point I heard one of them address another one as "Ser" and I thought to myself, "Ah, so they are knights."

It did not startle me considering the quality of their armor. As a bard, this intrigued me and I wished that I could listen to them longer in hopes of hearing something that I could use later in a composition, but they put on their helmets and started to leave. Looking up, I watched them go with a certain level of longing. Their armor clattered and knocked with every step, but they seemed to carry it so lightly, their broad shoulders swaying rhythmically with each step. If only I could capture that sure stride in music, reliving that marshal perfection that captures the essence of knighthood. It made me feel small and insignificant to see them go and know that I was beneath their notice.

Unable to resist, I left the tavern and followed them quietly down the hill into the town so that I could watch them a little longer from a safe distance. I wasn't spying exactly, I was merely curious. It occurred to me that the old knight had said something about travelling over the mountains and perhaps they were going in my direction for a while. Maybe they would allow me to travel with them for a time, which would be far less lonely for me and probably much safer. I wasn't entirely sure how I would convince the gray knight whose actions communicated leadership to accept me when his distaste for me was so evident. I paced the darkness for a time outside of the inn where they had enterred in order to rehearse in my mind how I would approach him.

Just when I settled on what to say and made a move to go forward with my plan someone came out of the inn. It was one of the knights, still wearing his armor and his helmet making me unsure specifically which knight it was, except that I knew it was not the young, red knight, the large dark knight or the old gray knight. It seemed peculiar to me that he would be leaving the inn at that time, especially since they all had to travel early the following morning, but I thought that it might give me a chance to approach him and plead my case. If I could win him to my side he might present my wishes to accompany them before the older knight and convince him to entertain my request.

Scurrying between shadows, only ten yards behind him, I tried to discern the best way to approach without startling him or inviting him to impale me on his sword. He walked to the Chantry and around the back with me as close as I dared. Taking a deep breath, I began to hail him in an attempt to reveal myself when another figure joined him from the shadows and my voice died in my throat. This figure wore a dark cloak that obscured his face, but I could hear the rasp of his voice in the dark, "My lord, when should my men attack the knights?"

"Attack when we reach the point I have marked on this map, you know the signal. Even if they escape the attack there will be no where for them to go and no help readily available. You and your men can have whatever gear you salvage from their corpses. Leave their bodies for the wolves." Hearing these instructions from the shelter of the shadows and seeing him hand a rolled parchment to the cloaked man, whom I assumed was a mercenary, I shivered at how callous the words sounded that sentenced his companions to death.

Carefully retracing my steps back up the slope to the tavern in order to avoid discovery, my mind churned with what I had unintentionally discovered in the darkness. The knights were to be betrayed for some reason that I could not fathom. Someone did not want them to complete their mission and they were marked to die. Reaching the tavern I collapsed in the chair closest to the fire, watching the fire flare and roar until the embers began to die and turn into cold ash. No matter how close I sat to the grate, I could not warm myself and it was as if I could taste the ash in my mouth.

My mind was in cartwheels, arguing in circles over what to do. This was not my concern, their lives were not my affair and I was the lowly bard whom their leader had frowned upon. I wasn't entirely sure which one among them was the betrayer for I was unable see his face beneath the helmet, though his voice and his words continued to ring within my mind. If I went to them with this information I would be unable to make the accusation in safety, either the betrayer would kill me for revealing him and claim I had lied or the gray knight would assume I was a spy and possibly turn me over to the authorities. Besides, they were knights, trained for battle, surely they could protect themselves.

I resolved to say nothing and went to my room above the tavern to spend the night in a warm bed, grateful that I had not taken a room at the inn near the center of town, sharing the same roof with the doomed knights. Though the bed was comfortable and soft, sleep eluded me. Every time I closed my eyes I could see the face of the red knight, with his hopeful, dreaming eyes. The others might have stood a chance, but he was so young, so trusting. If they were ambushed he would be the first to fall in the confusion. He might fight bravely for a time, but he would die and I knew that in saying nothing I was sending him to his death. Damn him! Damn him for reminding me of Collin whom I could not save and whose loss I still felt so deeply.

Unable to find sleep or solace, I gathered my things, left the tavern and stationed myself outside the inn, near the blacksmith's forge. Regardless of how early they left, I would be able to see them go.

I managed to doze lightly in the few hours afforded me before they emerged from their lodgings in the dark of early morning, jarring me awake. Even wearing their armor they moved with minimal clanking, maintaining the quiet of the morning and creating a type of duet with the sound of the hammer from the blacksmith's forge that had begun an hour before. They spoke in hushed tones as they decided their riding order. The confusion and hushed cacophony of their whispers made it difficult to differentiate between them by sound so I was unable to decide who the traitor was, but I was able to distinguish the young red knight and prayed that I might be able to speak with him in an unguarded moment during the haste of their departure. Their horses whinnied with the same impatience that I felt, but the red knight was never alone. He was accompanying one of the others and as the first knights began to take the lead, he and his companion hung back while two of the others fussed with their saddles.

Was he riding with the betrayer? I listened carefully, hungry to hear the voice of his riding companion, knowing that would resolve my warning or silence. They were about to ride past me when the other knight finally spoke enough for me to settle that the unguarded tone of laughter in the voice did not resemble the cold, calculating voice that I recalled from the darkness.

I called for them to wait, still unsure of what to say, so I stalled with the guise of examining the red knight's horse for a flaw in its shoeing. I licked my suddenly dry lips and could not bear to look in his face. Perhaps I could escape now and say nothing. Perhaps I could go on my way and forget I had ever seen his hopeful green eyes that reminded me so much of my dead husband.

"Forgive my interference, my red knight, but you are travelling with one who plans to betray you. Remain wary." The voice sounded as if it had come from someone else as I backed into the shadows and attempted to disappear. Once concealed by the darkness I turned and ran, heedless of the two men who shouted after me to return and give an explanation for my actions. I ran through the village, between the houses where some people still slept, my heart pounding in my throat where I could not dislodge it.

It should have ended there. My duty was done and I had warned the red knight of the treachery that awaited him. That would have satisfied any religious zealot or man who touts the importance of honor. I should have been free to pursue my own business which I knew would not wait and was pressing me to move in haste to my own destination.

But it didn't end there, for I had come too far to turn back at that point. By the Maker, what was I thinking?

I followed them, which was easier that you would have expected for a woman on foot, but their horses moved slowly carrying the burden of these large men in their heavy armor. As the paths inclined and became rockier with the mountain passes, the horses seemed to crawl. At times, to spare the horses, the men would walk and I moved with them, always vigilant that they not catch sight of me in the brush. Without their knowledge and consent, I scouted ahead of them to assure myself that the mercenaries who planned to attack them were not just beyond the next bend in the road. All campfires and warm food were foregone as I took to chewing dried beef and perching in trees to pass the nights so that they would remain unaware of my presence while I watched over them.

What did I plan to do in the event that they were attacked? I had no sword with which to aid them nor did I have any experience with battle. The most I could do would be to wield a dagger, which did not bode well for me in hand-to-hand combat with a larger assailant. If the assailant had any armor to speak of, then I would have no chance at all, and still I stayed.

It was in a tree that I heard the red knight's riding companion argue with the gray knight during the dusk two days later when they were alone in the camp while the other knights gathered fire wood, looked for small game to supplement their meal or checked the surrounding areas for unwelcome guests, like me. Without his helmet this knight was relatively fair haired and did not have a bushy beard like most of the other knights. I recognized him as the chuckling knight from the tavern, but there was no laughter in his voice now and its quality was sharp and crisp as he confronted whom I assumed was his commander; certainly not as respectful as one would have expected between a subordinate and a commander, but the fair knight was particularly vexed so I attributed it to that. He asserted, "She said someone was going to betray us."

The gray knight crossed his arms and _harrumphed. _If I had any doubts on his opinion of me before, they were answered then. The older knight emphatically declared, "Bards are nothing but trouble. How would she know anything unless she was a spy sent to create unrest? If she had nothing to hide, why did she speak to you and Ser Forthwind in secret while the rest of us were occupied with our departure?"

"What if she had come to you and told you plainly her suspicions? What would you have done?" the other knight questioned, and the gray knight replied something too low for me to hear from where I was sitting, though I knew it was far from complimentary and probably involved a curse of some nature.

The fair knight sighed heavily and pressed, "Are you so sure that she is wrong? What if she knows something that we do not?"

"I do not believe that it is possible," the gray knight shook his head slowly, though his statement contained less vehemence than his previous ones indicating that he was not as sure as he claimed, "however we shall remain vigilant in these unfamiliar surroundings just to be safe."

"Agreed." the fair knight nodded and they spoke no more of me, as if I no longer existed past that moment. I could not blame them, part of me wanted to walk away and forget all of them as well. It would have made my life less complicated, but inexplicably I could not bring myself to leave. I was at least encouraged to notice that the red knight's body language, even when he rested, seemed more alert. He did not seem fearful, just more aware of his surroundings and his dreaming look became sharper. Even the laughing knight and the gray lion were wary and the men rotated watches throughout the nights so they would not be caught unaware while they slept. I remained vigilant too, waiting in the darkness for what I knew would come, but unsure of how to help them until the waiting ended four days later.

I was ahead of the knights, moving silently through the foliage adjacent to the road, dividing my attention between watching for anything suspicious and keeping hidden so no one else would suspect my presence. I could hear the continued jangle and clatter of the knights' armor while they rode or walked, estimating they could have been no more than twenty yards behind me when I saw something move in the trees. Almost simultaneously a bird called, a twig snapped and I screamed, "On your guard!"

The mercenaries descended instantly on the knights, my knights, and I could do nothing but unsheathe a dagger and hide, praying I was not found by the mercenaries too.


	4. Interlude 1: Between Head & Heart

**_Interlude 1 - Between the Head and the Heart_**

_My head speaks plain prose,_

_While my heart speaks in riddles._

_My head walks in straight lines,_

_While my heart dances and fiddles._

_Somewhere between the head and the heart_

_Is where the bulk of my confusion starts._

_My head leads me in one direction_

_While my heart makes me stumble._

_My head keeps me balanced_

_While my heart makes me tumble._

_In my reason I know my head should rule,_

_Yet I still choose to follow my heart and _

_be the fool._

_My head tells me to remain silent_

_While my heart leads me to laugh._

_This sensation of disquiet_

_Succeeds in ripping me in half._

_The head is the one on which I depend,_

_But in the end my heart is the true friend._

_My head wants me to be safe,_

_While my heart leads me to danger._

_Though all around me might know me,_

_To myself I am a stranger._

**_- Bard Svenya of the Mask_**


	5. Chapter 3: Capture & Ransom

**Chapter 3: Capture and Ransom**

**_Alistair_**

"On your guard."

That scream pierced the air a breath before we were attacked. Even with such little warning, it gave Forthwind and I enough time to arm ourselves so were not completely defenseless as the men rushed at us from the brush. They seemed to rise up from the ground, and if I didn't know better, I would have thought them to be dark spawn.

Ser Grey had been riding ahead with Siggers, Wyman and Eddols and they were too far ahead to be seen from where we stood on the road, far enough away that we could no longer see them when the attack had begun. Ser Forthwind and I managed to close ranks with Ser Allnatt and Ser Hulbert, guarding one another's backs, facing into all directions. The four of us were forced to rely on each other to withstand the onslaught from the trees. We held off our assailants for a while, running many of them through while they were practically throwing themselves at us. They had large numbers on their side, but they were disorganized and not seasoned for battle as we were. In the end, however, we were overwhelmed and surrounded.

Suddenly we heard, "Hold! Hold yourselves." The waves of mercenaries stopped; though we could see them hanging back and using the trees to keep cover. We remained ready with our swords when a man wearing a filthy tunic and jerkin came forward and addressed us.

"Greetings knights," he grinned smugly, "it appears we have you surrounded."

Nodding grimly, I responded, "That may be, but each of my men are worth thirty of yours. Using that math, I would wager that you are the ones at a disadvantage."

With my answer the man's grin faltered slightly, but he maintained it and continued, "Regardless, with that logic we will all end up dying together. I propose you surrender and we will not harm you. Initially we were hired to kill you all, but our employer has recently met a hasty demise. We would be willing to take you prisoner and ransom the lot of you back to the Arl of Redcliff. Live knights might be worth more than dead knights, wouldn't you agree."

These words revealed something to me: whoever had hired them did not inform them that one of the "knights" was the king of Ferelden. They assumed that we were knights from Redcliff and they wanted to get as much money from us as possible. All four of us here were alive at this point and I couldn't be sure of what had happened to Grey's portion of the party. If we tried to continue the fight we would probably not last long before overwhelmed. In the best interest of the other men I had to make the decision to concede to the mercenaries demands and plan on either escaping or being ransomed later. There was also the chance that we would be able to discover who had arranged for the ambush and their purpose behind it.

We surrendered our swords and allowed the mercenaries to take our armor and shields. The mercenaries also took our horses and sent them ahead somewhere with the rest of our gear that the horses had been carrying. A large group of the mercenaries headed to the South, including the one who had parlayed with us, making me assume that he was the leader. He charged the fifteen men who were escorting us not to harm us as we travelled to their encampment where we would be held until they received word of whether a ransom had been collected or not. We were marched for what seemed like hours until we reached their camp. Then our hands were tied and spread out around the camp so that we had no opportunity to speak quietly. To my relief I noticed that Grey was at the camp, though I deduced the he was unconscious and had a nasty looking head wound, but I could tell that he was breathing and that gave me hope. There were no signs of the other three knights that had been with him and my heart sank, realizing that Siggers, Wyman and Eddols were all probably dead. I set my teeth and promised myself that these mercenaries would pay dearly.

The day continued to drag its feet past until the shadows of the woods became longer and darkness embraced the trees. While we were slumped on the ground or against trees our captors began preparing their evening meals and vilely ate in front of us while were sat and watched. They tore into bread with their teeth, chewing with their mouths open and drooling before drinking deeply from a skin of what I assumed was wine that stained their tunics. The entire time they openly savored their meal and giving us meaningful looks, silently boasting their power over us and watching us as the gleam of hunger glittered in our eyes.

Roughly around this point Ser Grey finally began to stir and started awake. He groaned with the sudden exertion, probably feeling the dizziness caused by the wound to his head. He retched a moment on the ground and I worried for him. It was going to be a hard blow when he realized that almost half of our retinue was gone.

"Could you please give this man some water?" My question was pointed, though I made an effort to be polite in hopes that our captors would heed our request.

My request was met with harsh laughter and mocking glances. They had no intention of feeding or tending to us. I couldn't be sure of how badly Ser Grey was injured, but the possibility that he could die crossed my mind and I tried to reason with them that he would be worth more if he were alive than dead, since he was our commander. Apparently they thought better of their behavior and one of them came forward, pouring water into his mouth only to have it retched up again. The mercenaries would not let me get any closer to see if I could aid him or check the extent of his wounds so I was forced to sit and watch my friend groan.

Suddenly a scuffle at the edge of the camp caught my attention. More accurately it caught the attention of everyone in the camp. Two of the mercenaries dragged a figure forward and flung the individual down unceremoniously close to my feet. I was startled when the head turned and I caught sight of a familiar green mask as the bard scuttled backwards, looking like a cornered animal and trying to keep our captors in her sights.

"It looks like we have a visitor, men," remarked the mercenary closest to her. The other mercenaries began to gather around, some with their lips curled in an ominous glee. It was obvious at that point that she was not one of them and I did not like the turn that these events were taking. I was concerned for her safety.

"What have we here?" A hulking man with a yellow toothed grin leered down at her while he towered above. "Did you get lost, little girl?"

"Ah, gentlemen," she suddenly smiled and gingerly got to her feet, though the constant looking from one to the other showed that she was nervous and she continued to back up slowly until a tree impeded her, "you look like a cultured group. My name is Svenya and I travel around, performing for working class men – much like yourselves."

The mercenaries continued to come forward and surround her, though they still maintained a few feet of distance between themselves and her. I struggled slightly trying to loosen my bonds and get my hands free, but the ropes were tight and all I could do was watch as the tableau unfolded before me.

"I know many songs of valor and ballads. I can recite epic poetry…" she trailed off slightly as the men continued to move forward and her voice cracked hastily, "Maybe you are more of a limerick and drinking song sort of crowd? Did I mention I juggle?"

The man with the yellow teeth grinned wickedly, "Why the mask?"

The bard straightened up slightly at that question and answered, "I was cursed by a blood mage. Anyone who looks at my face promptly suffers from a gruesome death." The mercenaries had closed whatever gap was left and had completely obscured her from my sight, though I heard her pipe up in warning, "It is truly horrible to behold. I would recommend you leave it where it is."

With that, the crowd of men rushed her with one shouting, "Take it off her, let's see this curse." In their focus on the bard they were completely distracted from the rest of us.

I had once again futilely struggled to free myself in hopes that I might be able to intervene and help her when suddenly I felt cold steel next to my wrists, sawing away at my bonds. Turning my head I could see Ser Allnatt working to free me while Forthwind untied Grey and Hulbert stealthily gathered our weapons from where the mercenaries had left them. In a matter of seconds we were armed and rushed the mercenaries who had been so busy with the bard that they failed to see that we had escaped.

With our battle cry the mercenaries wheeled with surprise and met our blows with mouths agape. We dispatched half of them before they even realized what was going on. Those quicker on the uptake scrambled for daggers or retreated into the trees, running for their lives. The one with the yellow teeth, being closest to her, grabbed the bard and pulled her in front of him to serve as a shield while his companions fell around him. He held a dagger to her throat, "Let me go or she dies!"

"If you harm her," I growled slowly, my sword held in ready, "you will wish you were dead by the time I get through with you."

"We didn't want any of this." He whined, obviously afraid now that the tables were turned, "Cormac said it would be an easy job. There were more of us than you. I knew we shouldn't `ave messed with no knights."

"Who is Cormac?" Ser Allnatt asked as he slowly edged into a flanking position opposite me.

"He's the boss." In his nervousness and desire to escape the man was telling us everything, "He was approached in Denerim by a knight wanting him to arrange an ambush. The knight said that if he got his fellows out of the way then he would be serving his sovereign and all of Ferelden would be better off. We didn't care about the rest of Ferelden, we just wanted to get paid. There hasn't been much call for mercenaries since the Blight ended."

"What did you plan to do once you fulfilled your half of the bargain?" I pressed; daring not move forward any further for fear that he would panic and injure the woman.

"We'd `of headed over the mountains and into Orlais and lived like kings," he continued, "or there were rumors that an army was being raised in the Cauldron."

This answer perplexed me, it meant that there could be more unrest here in the mountains than I had originally thought, but there would be time to worry about it later, "Fine. If you let the woman go I will let you leave with your life. Run to Orlais and never let me see you in Ferelden again. If I come across you ever again then your life will be forfeit."

The man looked like he wasn't sure if he should believe me and glanced over to Allnatt who stared at him without wavering. With a sudden movement the mercenary lowered the dagger and thrust the bard toward me and I had to lower my sword or risk running her through accidently. He ducked around a tree and ran into the woods and out of sight.

Forthwind jumped forward as if he planned to follow, "Let me go after him."

At that point I would have chastised him when the bard cut in, "No, there is no time. Grab what you can by way of food and supplies; we have to get out of here before the rest of them return or they regroup. We need to get your commander someplace safe where we can tend to him."

The thongs that had held her mask in place were dangling about her ears, revealing that the mercenaries had managed to get it untied but she securely held it in place. The right arm of her tunic had been ripped away and there were a number of tears in her breeches and her braid had loosened, leaving tendrils fluttering and framing her face in haphazard patches. She seemed oblivious to it all except trying to keep the mask on and scrabbling with her free hand to retie the tongs behind her head.

I knelt down next to her and caught her hand where it futilely tangled in her hair, attempting to put the mask to rights, "Allow me." I tied the leather thongs gently and helped her to her feet. She nodded slightly, not meeting my eyes as she went back to the opposite edge of camp to collect her bag where it had been dropped.

Ser Allnatt and Ser Hulbert gathered food together from the mercenaries' stores. Ser Forthwind and I checked Grey's wounds, trying to see if we could safely move him. He was slightly addled, but he knew who we were and allowed us to pull him to his feet and support him between us. I caught sight of the bard searching the pockets of one of the fallen, but it was Ser Hulbert who asked, "Is that really necessary? As you said we have very little time."

She sniffed, but didn't bother to look up or cease her searches until she came across a palm full of coins and pocketed them in her purse, "For that level of entertainment I would charge more, but I will settle for enough to replace my torn tunic."

With that she got back to her feet, walked to the camp fire, grabbed skin of wine and carefully removed a small bird and two potatoes that had been roasting in the coals. She delicately wrapped it in a thick piece of clean cloth from her bag to protect her hands and carry them away with her. Once she had secured them she pulled out a cloak from her bag and wrapped it around her, slung her bag over her shoulder and headed to the woods without a glance back but calling over her shoulder, "If you have finished your preparations, we should depart without delay."

Ser Hulbert called after her, "They took our armor with them."

"Good riddance," she answered without pause, "those damn things made you jangle like Chantry bells. If anyone were looking for you they would find you with ease. You'll be able to keep concealed better without them. Come, I want to get as far away from here as possible before we stop to rest for the night."

The knights looked at me questioningly, wondering if we should follow her lead. Ser Grey was injured and having problems moving, let alone able to plan on an appropriate course of action. She seemed to know what she was doing and we had no reason to doubt her, she had tried to warn us of the ambush after all. I nodded to the others and started to follow her with Forthwind and Grey in tow. Allnatt and Hulbert looked doubtful, but took up guard for the rest of us while we travelled and the bard kept moving ahead of us through the trees.

After hours of walking silently with the light of the moon making through the trees we stumbled across a thicket. There was enough room for all of us to crawl in for shelter and be obscured from view by any who should happen by. We lay Ser Grey down and wrapped him in a large cloak we had pulled from the abandoned belongings of the mercenaries, though it smelled sour. Without a word the bard pulled out the food she had secured from the fire and, though it was cold, she cut apart the bird and the potatoes and distributed it among us. We ate gratefully, savoring each tiny morsel. The bard went on to examine Ser Grey and, after replacing the bandage around his head, she helped him to sit up enough to sip some of the wine, explaining, "It should dull the pain slightly and help him sleep. We'll see how coherent he is tomorrow and you can decide how you will proceed."

We were all exhausted and could not keep our eyes open. Normally I would have insisted one of us should keep watch, but I doubted any would be able and hoped that the thicket would be enough to keep us concealed as we slept. I drifted off, noticing that though the rest settled down to sleep the bard braced herself against the trunk of a tree and, with her cloak wrapped securely around her, she settled her chin on her chest and I assumed she closed her eyes, for I could not see them well with her mask. If any attacked us she would be able to wake quickly.

She was always so deliberate in her actions from what I had seen, seeming to know instantly what to do and how to proceed. It made me wonder exactly how much of our escape she had planned in advance and how much of her nervousness was an act to distract the mercenaries while we were freed. This enigmatic stranger had attached herself to us for reasons that eluded me and I knew nothing about her.

These thoughts swam through my mind as I sank into a fitful sleep filled with visions of all the people I knew, except that each of them was wearing a mask. They danced in circles around an ornate ballroom and just as I would be about to address one and ask for an explanation, they would dance away from me, either ignoring me or unable to hear my questions.

I couldn't dance, my feet felt like stone and I was affixed to the spot while the room spun around me. From the corner of my eye I caught sight of a woman in a blood red mask. I almost didn't recognize her until I noticed the delicately pointed ears against her dark auburn hair. She smiled at me from behind her mask and reached out her hand, but came no closer. I stretched out my hand in her direction and tried to call her name but no sound emerged from my lips. She was then swamped and obscured by the other dancers, disappearing from view and the room shifted from being a beautiful ballroom into the ruined landscape of Denerim during the last days of the Blight: the day that the archdemon was slain and I saw the smoke waft from the tower of Fort Drakon.

It felt like my heart was being seared from my chest and I was unable to speak or weep. It was then I realized that I had made a mistake, the cost of being king was too high, but the realization had come too late. All desire I had to love another had died that day and I resigned myself to be a good king, to honor her sacrifice through my actions, though I could never bring myself to say her name again, even in private.

Then I found myself lying on the ground, but I could not remember having fallen. I looked up and she was there again, staring down at me from behind the same inscrutable red mask and she spoke my name with a voice dappled by both laughter and tenderness, "Alistair."

I started awake and opened my eyes to the bright sunlight coming through the bracken of the thicket. Ser Grey stood over me, though slightly crouched, looking haggard but formidable, "Finally, you are awake. We must decide what to do next before _the bard_ returns to us."

"Too late, Ser Lion," spoke the familiar and distinctly feminine voice that I vaguely remembered from the previous night, "though it is encouraging to know that you can still growl."

She was leaning casually against a nearby tree, seeming to be slightly amused by a joke that I was unaware of as she looked at Grey and he attempted to stare her down. By the light of day her voice and manner had apparently softened, as if to balance Grey's sternness. "Forgive me for sneaking away when I awoke, but I had to put myself to rights again and decided to scout around to make sure we had not been followed by your previous hosts. Since you are on your feet I assume you are doing much better. Are you able to think clearly again?"

"Quite," Grey answered tersely, "and clearly enough to be able to tell you that we no longer require your assistance."

"Indeed? Well we can discuss parting ways after introductions at least. I go by Svenya," She crossed her arms, though the playfulness did not leave her voice; she angled her head, looking at us through her enigmatic mask. "Since I have gone out of my way to assist you, delaying my own journey, would you be kind enough to provide me with your names?"

Seeing no real reason to lie, I shrugged my shoulders and answered, "I am Alistair, King of Ferelden."

You could hear the skew of her eyebrows in the incredulous tone of her voice, "I see."

I had been prepared for almost any other reaction: confusion, awe, wheedling to curry favor, even perhaps a touch of fear. It had never really occurred to me that she might misread my frankness and assume I was being insincere or mocking, but she sighed playfully melodramatic, "Well met, your majesty. A good jest. However, if you did not wish to tell me your name you could have said so in the first place. I can respect a person's desire for anonymity and appreciate it more so than most people."

I opened my mouth to reassure her that I was in earnest, but Grey cut me off, "In actuality, his name is Ser Alan Sellose. I am Ser Simon Grey and this is Ser Hadrian Forthwind. Ser Allnatt is tending the campfire and Ser Hulbert is organizing what little gear we have. We are knights from Redcliff." As he rattled off names he did not take his eyes off of her, like she was an opponent that he had to defend against. He nodded to us in turn as he introduced us.

"It does not shock me that you are knights. You are too blatant and awkward to be spies or assassins and you carry yourself too proudly to be normal foot soldiers or mercenaries. However, you are far from Redcliff. Did you mayhap get lost?" she teased.

"No," Grey answered stiffly, "we are on a diplomatic mission on behalf of our Arl to the northwestern freeholds. He is hoping to open communications and negotiate an alliance."

With this information her eyes became troubled and cloudy, "Do you know anything of these lands?"

"We have some intelligence on the area, but we were hoping to learn about the status of these lands through our observations on this journey," Grey informed her.

"The people of these lands are wary of strangers from the south. Travelling openly as knights on behalf of a Southern lord might make you into unwilling targets. Though I have seen your ability to fight and know you can handle yourselves, you could be easily ambushed again in these forests that are so unfamiliar to you. I would advise turning back except that you have now lost much of your gear and money to the mercs that captured you and it would be too far to travel back through the mountain woods en mass."

Grey insisted, "We can not give up our mission, and you have already pointed out we have no choice but to go forward. Thank you my good woman for your assistance and we will not trouble you further."

"Are you forgetting something?" she asked slowly, drawing out the syllables with a thoughtful smile.

"No," Grey bit off with a furrowed brow and a thoughtful scowl, "I have forgotten nothing."

The bard shrugged her shoulders again and smirked, "I might be mistaken, but were you following maps in order to find your way through these lands."

Now it was Grey's turn to open his mouth as if to say something, but realization dawned at that moment and no sound issued forth. If I didn't know better, I might have assumed that a look of panic shadowed his countenance, but Grey was not one easily frightened, even by the prospect of maps buried in the unreachable recesses of our saddle bags that were currently in the possession of the mercenaries that we had just escaped from. It was only the briefest pause before he affirmed, even if more for himself than the bard waiting with amused expectancy for his reply, "I'm sure I can remember the general direction that we should follow. If we keep heading north, we're bound to come across some village where we can purchase or trade for another map."

"Hmmmm," the bard nodded to herself in mock seriousness at this response, "I suppose you might just come to a village. There is one village north of here called Helmrock, only it would take you two weeks of strictly walking north to get there. That is also not taking into consideration that it is a mining town with not much by way of cartographers or individuals educated enough in writing. However, I might know of a village closer."

Grey's jaw tightened and you could almost hear the scraping of his teeth as he ground out, "Oh, you might? I suppose you might be willing to offer us this information as well?"

"Yes," she confirmed again, "in fact, I see a potentially beneficial arrangement for all of us if you are willing to consider what I propose."

"I am listening." Grey crossed his arms and gazed evenly at her down the length of his hawkish nose, a stance indicating that he was listening reluctantly and reserved the right to refuse whatever she recommended, but he curtly urged her to continue, "Go on."

"First of all, you should know that the arls are: Arl Leofrick Boese of Swidden, Arl Donngal Crewe of Cloughbark and Arl Trian Auber of Herfirien. Of these three, Arl Auber is only a week's walk slightly northeast from where we are, making him the closest and of the three he has the reputation of being the most reasonable. He is considered to be honorable which would make him most ideal for your purposes. Therefore I would recommend you speak with him first. Though I would not hang your hopes on it, he might be able to muster enough influence within the region to cause the other arls to entertain your proposed alliance with the Arl of Redcliff. If not, he would at least be able to advise and direct you in how you should proceed with your goals." She stated this, walking through her reasoning with us in sure and soothing tones.

"Thank you for your insight," Grey stated, though I suspect it slightly pained him to do so, "yet I am still waiting to hear what you have to add further to this information that will enlighten us as to how this is beneficial to you."

Her smile was slightly lopsided as she further elaborated, "I, myself, am going in that direction in order to reach the lands of Cloughbark, governed by Arl Crewe, just beyond your destination. For the most part I can travel quickly and know most of the safe roads to get there to avoid any unpleasant engagements with bandits. However, I have very little by way of defenses. I could guide you and, in the event that those mercenaries should try to find and recapture you, take you on a route that is both fast and difficult to follow by anyone trying to track you. You, in turn, would provide me with more protection than I currently possess until we reach Arl Auber's estate. Once I have made sure that you have your meeting with the arl and made contact with some of my friends there, I will part company with you and continue on the last leg of my journey. Is this not reasonable?"

I thought this sounded more than reasonable, but Grey did not want to look at it from this perspective. He remained sullen, almost to the point of petulance, and shook his head, "And why exactly should we place our trust in you? You are some kind of scavenger preying off of our misfortune."

Even with her countenance covered it was becoming clear that she was losing patience with Grey. Her eyes became slightly colder and her voice dripped with sarcasm, "Well you trusted that small knight that almost ran you through on the road, and would have done so were it not for me. Perhaps saving your life does not entitle me to your trust, Ser Lion, but I would wager it is a step in the right direction. As for being a scavenger preying off your misfortune, I think I have suffered equal amounts of misfortune on your behalf, not to mention inconvenience. You may not have been aware of it with your injury, but I was not required to help you as I did. If you feel you are better served without further aid I will take my leave of you now and allow you to wander these forests without guidance. I leave it entirely up to you."

For a moment Grey sputtered and paced until I think his wound gave him pause and he had to sit a moment on a nearby log. It became clear that he was trying to sort through what he had remembered of the attack that had left him injured and mentally addled the night before. It hadn't occurred to me to ask how the bard had known to find us or if she had known what had happened to the other three of Grey's party. Sudden realization seemed to dawn on Grey and he stood up suddenly again only to sink to the log once more, muttering to himself, "The sound came and I was knocked from my horse when the attack began. Barnard tried to hold off the rest of the force…Emery dismounted to aid me but he was…Pascal…Pascal…," Grey's eyes went wide, "It was Pascal. But I don't remember…"

He looked again at the bard and, straightening his shoulders, stated, "We have to go back and care for the remains of our comrades. They deserve better than to be left on the road for wolves."

The bard shook her head slowly, sadly, her previous annoyance appeared to have evaporated on watching Grey's struggle to remember, "After the mercenaries had taken you away I spent the better part of the afternoon burying your fallen comrades and said a prayer for them. I am sorry I could not offer them a proper pyre, lacking the ability to gather the wood necessary to burn three men, but be comforted in that their remains will not be molested by wild animals. To return and do more would be unwise as well, since the mercenaries that captured you are still about and might see if we burn them," with this the bard rummaged through her bag and brought out Wyman's holy writ, what appeared to be a lady's scarf and some letters. She gently handed them to Grey, "They had been picked clean of their gear save for a few items. I did not read the letters. I felt those might be your concern alone and I do not presume to know what is in them, only that I want no part of them."

Grey numbly perused the letters and took a long look at the scarf, before handing them to me. My heart sank slightly as I read, "Ser Eddols, once you had been loyal to my father and would never concede to a bastard king reigning – let alone a king who is moved by any wind that should blow in his direction. I am trapped and am fast losing hope of ever tasting freedom again and I fear for our country's future if Alistair continues to rule. We will be easy targets for Orlais to invade once again. I beg your aid." The letter was unsigned, but the initials on the scarf were A.L.

It was clear that Anora had not been idle the entire time she had been imprisoned in the tower and someone had smuggled her letters out to her contacts. I had made the decision not to have her executed when I took power, but Ser Eamon had argued something like this might happen. Still, I could not bring myself to kill her. Perhaps it had been a mistake, but even now I did not believe that she should lose her life.

The bard, Svenya, watched us expectantly, waiting to hear the verdict. In my mind she had more than proven herself, but I could not gauge how Grey's reluctance to accept her help would cause him to decide. At this point she believed that he was our commander, our leader, and I was not about to ruin the illusion that Grey had put in place so I could not argue or command otherwise. Anora's words from the letter haunted me slightly as I allowed our fate to be decided between Grey and the bard.

After a pause and slow exhalation of air, Grey reluctantly conceded to her reasoning. However, because of our betrayal it was important to inform Arl Eamon of what had occurred in case anyone moved against the palace while we were gone. Grey decided to send Allnatt and Hulbert to retrace our route back to Redcliff to inform Ser Teagan and from there send word to Denerim. They would carry with them the proof of Ser Eddols treachery to give credence to our concerns, though I also sent word with them with a brief missive instructing Eamon to not execute or cause harm to Anora until I returned. Instead she should be watched more closely in order to discover how her messages were being circulated among her contacts and discover if there were others, like Eddols, who were in positions of power and undermining my rule with treachery. I would rely on Arl Eamon and Ban Teagan to root out the traitors.

These new developments made our mission all the more important. We had to further strengthen my position with the Northwestern freeholds' support and endorsement. Grey, Forthwind and I would continue on with the bard as our guide and we would be her protection until we reached Herfirien.


	6. Chapter 4: A Bard's Chance

**Chapter 4: A Bard's Chance**

**_Svenya_**

When I was faced with such opposition from "Ser Lion" it irked me, though I should not have been surprised. How was he to have known that as the mercenaries had attacked that I had taken advantage of the confusion to circle back in the brush and managed to see what occurred from where I hid. By the time I had arrived in that position the attack was well underway.

A mercenary had charged the old knight's horse and he had been practically cleaved in twain from above with one swift blow of Ser Lion's sword. He could have held his own, but the small knight, the traitor, took advantage of the distraction and struck him from behind, knocking the older knight from his horse, though if it had not been for the helmet the blow might have killed him. The large knight and the other, mousey, devout knight did not see the blow because of their preoccupation with the waves of men coming at them. The devout one turned to see the older knight on the ground and shouted to the larger knight to continue to hold the rest of the mercenaries while he saw to their commander. He did not see the small knight take cover behind a tree and before I could cry a warning the betrayer struck the other knight from behind, knowing where the gap in armor was hidden and killing him.

The large knight, now alone without his comrades' aid, was swarmed by the remainder of the mercenaries. It took eight of them at once to subdue and slay him. I lay there terrified, unable to move. The assault stopped, though I could hear continued battle farther back around the bend of the road, knowing the others still fought, unaware of what had happened. I saw the traitor knight come forward one last time, his sword still unsheathed and the blood of one of the men who trusted him was bright against the steel.

The small knight finally took off his helmet and his eyes were cold as he looked at the fallen knight, prone on the ground before him, lying beside the corpse of his friend. I could hardly breathe as he lifted his sword for one final blow that would end the older knight in one swift, downward motion and ground out between clenched teeth, "For the honor of Anora."

In one desperate motion I threw the dagger I held in my hand and aimed for the only flesh I could see clearly. It caught the traitor in the neck and he made one wet, gurgling gasp around the point in his windpipe. The sword clattered to the ground, forgotten as his eyes grew wide with surprise and he staggered back before falling to the ground. I did not move, I did not cry, I did not breathe for fear that the impossible blow had revealed my hiding place.

The rest of the mercenaries crept forward on seeing the small knight fall, including the one I assumed was the leader. He glanced down at the small knight with complete apathy before turning his attention to his men. "Strip them of their gear. The old one is still alive, so be careful, but do not kill him."

"Cormac," cut in one of the dirtier mercenaries, "would it not be easier to kill him as we were paid to do?"

The leader nodded brusquely, "Yes, but he did not pay us in full. He held back part of the payment until we accomplished our goal. I do not believe he carried the money on him, so now that money is lost to us. The only way we can make back the remainder of what was promised to us is if we ransom the live knights. Send word to the others engaging the remaining knights to cease attacking until I arrive."

"That dagger in our contact's windpipe did not simply appear there. We are not alone in the woods." This was piped up from another man I could not see from where I hid, my heart beating heavily in my mouth.

The leader, who I assumed was Cormac based on how he had been addressed, quickly scanned the woods through slitted eyes. "True, but whoever threw the dagger is not attacking us at this point and I will not fight an invisible enemy. Whoever it is was not part of the knight's party and is therefore none of our concern. Be wary just the same and watch for any unusual movement in the trees. It is possible that the culprit was one of ours who accidently struck before realizing that it was the wrong knight."

He turned on his heel and headed toward the continuing sounds of struggle down the road. The mercenaries left behind set to the task of stripping the corpses and tying up the old knight who groaned incoherently, though he was obviously alive. They were not gentle with him and I could see a gash on his head when they dragged him roughly to his feet, making me wince. They proceeded to sling him over the back of what had formally been his horse. Unable to aid further and having only one dagger left to protect myself, I waited until all sounds of distant struggle had ceased and the mercenaries left, taking all the usable gear with them.

Even when I was sure they were gone, I still continued to wait, leaning almost drunkenly and spent against the tree I had used for cover. The light had taken on the sheen of midday before I dared stir and made my way to the fallen knights. It seemed wrong to leave them, knowing the wolves would come eventually, at the same time I could not manage a pyre. For starters the smoke and flames might alert the already suspicious mercenaries of my presence. Secondly, I was not sure I could gather enough wood to aptly burn three bodies. Surrounded by trees, though I was, I did not have any way to cut them. Twigs and sticks are fine for kindling, but to properly burn a body to ash one needs to have proper logs.

I managed to find a large, thick branch and began to scratch a large hole. Covering the bodies with dirt and rock would be kinder than leaving them to rot or be scavenged by wild animals, so I reasoned. Between the branch and my hands, I managed to dig the hole deep enough and unearthed enough rocks to lay over the grave. The blisters ached and my back hurt, having to make do with hands and a stick without the benefit of a shovel.

It had occurred to me to only bury two and save myself the trouble of a third, but who was I to judge the man that I had murdered. If I would not bury him, I should not have killed him to begin with. In my choices I had taken responsibility for these men and I had no right to pick and choose where I would interfere now that I was waist deep in their bloody business.

After struggling to wrestle their bodies into the ground and having my shirt stained slightly with some of their blood, I lay the earth and stones over them. I managed to locate the holy writ that the devout knight had carried where the mercenaries had discarded it on the ground, deeming it to be without worth or use to them. My blistered hands searched the pages before finding a passage from the Canticle of the Wanderer to speak over their graves in a form of consecration:

"_You know me beyond the shadow._

_You hear me beyond death. _

_You have guided me with your light, _

_In distant lands and at home._

_Though I may walk alone_

_I may find your foot prints beside mine._

_Though I die surrounded by enemies_

_I may find rest in your arms._

_Even in my wandering_

_I am never lost to you."_

"I am sorry I could not offer you a pyre, Pious One." I breathed regretfully, "You must have deserved better than this. I wish I could have spared you this and allowed you the fire to meet your Maker, but I believe the Maker will have you regardless."

I nodded my head over them one final time, gathered my effects and set out to track the rest of them. I was encouraged by the fact that I did not discover the bodies of the others on the road further down. The mercenaries had made no effort to cover their tracks and the horses had been carrying the heavy armor, making their hoof prints distinct in the loamy ground. With how exhausted I felt, it relieved me to have the path so easily marked so I did not have to work to find it. The light faded into darkness and in the end I was guided to the edge of the mercenaries' camp by the light of its campfires.

Taking in the scene, I could see that the knights had been spread out throughout the camp, probably with the intent to prevent them from speaking to one another or making plans to escape. The only two knights somewhat close to one another were the old knight and the laughing knight, though he looked solemn and worried for his commander. He was not allowed closer than five feet to the old knight and he asked that their captors offer him water. Counting carefully, I found that only fifteen of the mercenaries were left in the camp. Unable to know when or if the others were returning I had to act quickly.

The two knights I was least familiar with sat on opposite sides of camp, at the very edges and I was easily able to sneak up behind one of them. Before cutting his bonds, I gently whispered to him, "I have come to release you, but I can not fight these men. Hold for my signal before gathering your weapons and attacking. We must take them by surprise or we will all be lost." The knight warily nodded ascent to avoid drawing attention to us and I quickly cut the rope holding him. I moved quietly to the other side and related the same to the other knight from the shadows before releasing him from his bonds as well.

My red knight was partially leaning against a tree and the campfires were far enough away that I could remain concealed by the shadows from the tree, but it was becoming tricky to keep to the shadows. He glanced at me and gave a quick, relieved smile of recognition when he caught sight of my mask. Even frightened and unsure, I could not help but smile back at him before sinking back into the shadows and going around the long way, hoping I could make it to the laughing knight without being seen so I could release him next. Of the group, save the old knight, he would be the trickiest to approach.

While I skulked through the darkness at the edge of the camp, trying to position myself close enough to the laughing knight when a misplaced step found a twig, creating a crisp snap. This accident caught the attention of more than one of the mercenaries who came running and dragged me into the circles of light created by the campfires. I found myself achieving my desired goal with unwelcome, bruising efficiency as I found myself thrown to the ground a few feet from my laughing knight, who was then graced with a new worry recipient.

On the verge of panic, I was divided between trying to keep away from the mercenaries that seemed to now surround me and make myself seem as harmless as possible. Getting to my feet, I started to babble and blather, creating a jumble of words that even I didn't completely ken. They kept moving forward, leering and grinning with yellow teeth, rank breath and dark eyes. As I continued to retreat, I soon found my back against a tree and watching as they closed in around me. In the confusion of my fear and their advance I registered one question that brought me back to myself:

"Why that mask?"

With that statement, I remembered who I was and that I had three men free and prepared to pounce – not just men but knights who could hack them to bits. Here the mercenaries were, giving me their undivided attention and allowing the knights, my knights, the chance needed to catch them unawares. I needed to keep their attention long enough for them to get armed.

"I was cursed by a blood mage. Anyone who looks at my face promptly suffers from a gruesome death. It is truly horrible to behold. I would recommend you leave it where it is."

Needless to say, the mercenaries didn't believe me, but it piqued their curiosity even further, as if it whetted their appetite, and they crowded in even more eagerly. One of them bellowed, "Take it off her; let's see this curse." A group of three of them, gleeful with their power over me, a "helpless" woman, crowded around to tear the mask off my face. I could already predict that once the mask was torn off my clothes would shortly follow and it would escalate to even more unpleasantness after that, but there was nothing I could do. They were oblivious to everything but the joy of harming me.

Mustering some of the bravado that I had relied on when I was younger, I called to the knights that the mercenaries assumed were tied up on the ground, trying to sound braver and more in control than I felt, "You gentlemen over there, close your eyes. I will be sure to untie you once it is over and they have finished writhing in agony on the ground." With those last words the brutes descended.

When I was younger and I had learned to close my mind in so that I could pretend I was elsewhere when "unpleasant" things would happen to me. It had been so long since I had tried it and it was hard to pretend that the mask wasn't being forcibly pulled off my face and I put my hand up to shield myself slightly. The mask was the important part of me, it had been my defense for so long and now it was being taken away and I grabbed at it to prevent it from being discarded in their rough haste. It didn't even matter to me at that time that I could feel my tunic sleeve rip and my breeches were tearing. Everything outside of that circle of greasy, reeking men no longer seemed to exist, nothing existed but the mask that I held onto and would not let go, trying to hold it over my face as my lone shield against these men. I wasn't even aware when the struggle was over until I noticed that a blade was being pressed against my throat and I slowly opened my eyes to see the laughing knight with sword raised, menacing the last man who held me from behind in an almost choking grip. Just as I hid behind my mask, he hid behind me like a shield.

"If you harm her you will wish you were dead by the time I get through with you." The laughing knight was growling while he watched the man like a serpent watches a bird, waiting for it to come close enough to strike.

I could feel the hot, reeking breath of my captor wheeze past my ear. "We didn't want any of this. Cormac said it would be an easy job. There were more of us than you. I knew we shouldn't have messed with no knights."

"Who is Cormac?" A voice seemed to come out of nowhere from around my left side, but I was unable to see, unable to move with the dagger at my throat.

My captor started practically blubbering at that point, though he kept his death hold on me fairly steadily. He started talking about the plans that had occurred and the fact they had been approached in Denerim to perform the strike on the knights and what their plans had been for afterwards. At the time I was hardly paying attention since I was starting to feel light headed and all I could think about to myself was to keep hold of my mask over my face and make no quick movements for fear that the dagger point at my neck would nick me more than it already had. I could feel a small trickle of blood around an acute pinch of pain where the blade was pressed against my neck and the trickle slowly rolled down and over my collar bone. I was only vaguely aware when I heard the words barked in front of me, "Fine. If you let the woman go I will let you leave with your life. Run to Orlais and never let me see you in Ferelden again. If I come across you ever again then your life will be forfeit."

Suddenly the pinch at my neck was gone and it felt as if I was falling through the air toward the knight who had been negotiating my release. He also seemed to fall toward me, casting his sword to one side where it thudded upon the ground. He caught my shoulders and gently lowered me to my knees while I felt completely empty.

"Let me go after him." The red knight's voice was the next thing that registered as I took deep breaths of air without choking on them. Though my mind was still fuzzy, I could feel my awareness begin to sharpen and realized that we had to get out of that camp before any of the other mercenaries returned.

"No, there is no time. Grab what you can by way of food and supplies; we have to get out of here before the rest of them return or they regroup. We need to get your commander someplace safe where we can tend to him." The practical side of my head commanded while the rest of my attention still seemed riveted with securing my mask again to my face. Internally I kept thinking, "I need to tie the back, no one can see me like this. I don't want them to see me like this. I can deal with everything else once I have my mask completely on."

My fingers of my right hand were struggling to pull the ties from my mask together and rejoin them in a hasty knot, but it was clumsy to do it one handed while my left hand kept the mask tight to my face so that they couldn't see what was underneath. It startled me when a hand gently enclosed my shaky fingers and a voice gently whispered, "Allow me." Two steady hands carefully secured the loose chords of the mask and tied them together firmly so that I could finally release my grip on the mask without fear of it falling. These same two hands took my hands and helped me up, but I dared not look into the face that went with the hands. I felt so fragile, so vulnerable that I did not trust myself to keep my composure and hold in the tears that I could feel prickling the inside of my eye lids. I nodded mutely and pushed myself forward to gather some food and items so that we could leave this place as quickly as possible. My bag had been tossed aside in the earlier scuffle and I checked to make sure that my mandolin and effects had not been damaged.

Once I had been sickened by the thought of seeing a corpse, even the Blight with all of its death and destruction had not cured me of that feeling of nausea. Now, after having buried three men, one of them my victim, having been attacked and brutalized by these men, I could not recall that same feeling of ill or dread. My chest felt hollow as I found myself rifling through a corpse's pockets to find money.

When one of the knights spoke up, he was the one with nut brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard, it wasn't to scold me but to ask, "Is that really necessary? As you said we have very little time."

For a moment the sadness welled up in me, coupled with a deep sense of disgust. I felt no remorse for this man and that frightened me more than anything, but I refused to cry. I would not give these savages that, even after they were dead. I continued to search until I felt I had found enough money for my needs and refused to take more, "For that level of entertainment I would charge more, but I will settle for enough to replace my torn tunic."

Inwardly I promised myself that I would burn the clothes I was wearing at the first available opportunity. They had been tainted and the thought of them continuing to touch my skin emotionally chafed me. The only thing that kept me from taking clothes from the dead to replace what I wore was the thought that I would be wearing something that had been so close to one of them. That thought was worse than continuing to wear the sodden clothes on my own body.

Mechanically I moved to the next task, focusing on gathering food. My nose had begun to make me aware of the world around me and I could smell abandoned food still cooking in the fire. I grabbed some roasted potatoes and a game bird from the coals, slightly burning myself in the process because I wasn't thinking as clearly. I wrapped them in some clean cloth I carried in my bag and decided to save it for later until it cooled. Normally I might have been tempted to eat then and there, but I wanted to leave and never look back, "If you have finished your preparations, we should depart without delay."

"They took our armor with them." I heard the complaint, but I could not bring myself to care too much or to feel sympathy.

I had become aware over the past week of how noisy armor could be and how much it slowed one down from my second hand observations. "Good riddance, those damn things made you jangle like Chantry bells. If anyone were looking for you they would find you with ease. You'll be able to keep concealed better without them. Come, I want to get as far away from here as possible before we stop to rest for the night."

With that I began to walk, wrapping my cloak that had not been tainted around me as I went and slinging my bag over my shoulder. I could not bring myself to stay a moment longer and remain sane. I needed to walk breathing the clean air of the darkness and woods, smell the loamy earth instead of the stink of those men and their smoky campfires. It took a few moments for the others to follow, but they did follow with the old knight in tow and carrying some supplies that would help on the journey ahead.

We walked for hours, occasionally tripping in the darkness, until we found a thicket we could use for shelter. We decided it was a good place to stop for the night. The inner disgust that had hounded me had ebbed during our journey and I was able to feel numb enough to function and pass out the food I had acquired to the other occupants of the thicket. We made the old knight comfortable and I changed the bandage that the knights had wrapped around his injured head while I was too distracted to care at the mercenaries' camp. Pulling out a wineskin I had also managed to procure from our previous hosts, I tenderly propped the old knight up for a sip. Wearily I answered the question I saw on the laughing knight's face regarding my actions, "It should dull the pain slightly and help him sleep. We'll see how coherent he is tomorrow and you can decide how you will proceed."

I made myself comfortable, leaning against a sturdy tree trunk and wrapped in my cloak, resting my nose in its dark folds so I could breathe the vague scent of Andraste's Grace that I had once pressed in with it in the trunk of my old home and the scent was never completely gone, no matter how much time passed, whether in reality or from a twist of my mind. I was able to breathe that clean scent and not the smell of the filth of dirty, unwanted hands of men now dead. Finally, I allowed sleep to claim me and end the nightmare so I could forget.

What did I dream? I dreamt of Bruna's kitchen, curled next to the fire listening to her sing and tell stories. This was back when it seemed that nothing could happen to me if I was there amid the herbs and the aroma of bread baking. She had seemed all powerful, though not in the way that a wizard would be. She knew what elixir would heal and what could harm. I had been particularly familiar with her poultices that she applied to scrapes and bruises that also carried the mild scent of Andraste's Grace and other crushed wild flowers since Bruna always asserted that, "aroma speeds healing."

Suddenly there were blows on the main door of the kitchen, causing it to shudder and parts of the planks to splinter. Bruna shouted for me to get back, to run, but I couldn't move. The wood gave way with a roaring crash and a dark silhouette filled the doorway. The shadow brushed past me, bore down upon Bruna and rushed her out the door with her cursing and struggling. I pursued but found myself engulfed in mist as soon as I exited through the door, unable to discern which way they had gone. I was about to scream for her when a large hand grabbed me by the throat from behind and a menacing whisper stung my ears, "You will obey me!"

I started awake to the sound of large men breathing in their sleep, the dim light of morning sifting into the thicket. My breath was visible in the air, one of the first indicators that we were passing into the domain of my people, my kin. It was early autumn and the morning was crisp with the chill. I crawled away from the men and out of the thicket, into the hush of the forest. Scouting to the northeast of the camp I managed to find a clear pool where I could splash some water onto my arms and face, enabling me to fully awaken and banish the images from the terrifying dream that was unsettlingly familiar.

I had to return home, it was an obligation out of love that I owed to my brother and my mother, but what was I risking in order to fulfill this obligation. For five years I had been free of my family and these nightmares only to have them replaced or eclipsed by new ones created by the Blight. All that I had built was destroyed. Once again I was returning to something that could potentially be a trap, a snare to embroil me in the violence that had surrounded my life since I could remember. The old nightmares were returning and that did not bode well.

Deciding to focus on the disaster at hand, I returned to the camp to find most of my charges already stirring. Ser Lion was already barking and bullying his subordinates into action with the intent to regain control before I returned and find a way to be summarily rid of me. I crept back into camp hearing the words, "Finally, you are awake. We must decide what to do next before _the bard_ returns to us."

It was a relief to see him resembling the angry knight from the tavern in Redcliff that I recalled. I teased him with the nickname that I had coined for him in my mind during the many nights I had watched over their camps from a distance, "Too late, Ser Lion, though it is encouraging to know that you can still growl."

He took up his old warrior battle stance with his arms crossed in front of him and seemed intent on trying to intimidate me. If I was to continue to travel with these men and reach my own destination I had to be as exacting in my aim as an archer. It was vital that I betrayed no weakness, so I continued on as if he wasn't glaring at me, "Forgive me for sneaking away when I awoke, but I had to put myself to rights again and decided to scout around to make sure we had not been followed by your previous hosts. Since you are on your feet I assume you are doing much better. Are you able to think clearly again?"

Thus began the back and forth volleys between Ser Lion and me, only briefly interrupted by rushed introductions with one knight jokingly referring to himself as the King of Ferelden and Ser Lion futilely trying to regain control of the situation that was bounding away from him. Sparring with him was the most entertainment I had been privy to in weeks, watching his eyes with each shot and knowing that he had no where to go but trying to avoid making him feel cornered lest he turn true fangs on me. An irked knight I could manage, an angry lion was something entirely different and I knew that he could end me if he should truly desire it. However, his demeanor never escalated from sullen and I was able to eke out allowances and information a little at a time.

Then I found out their true purpose for travelling into the Cauldron and the game changed as he explained, "we are on a diplomatic mission on behalf of our Arl to the northwestern freeholds. He is hoping to open communications and negotiate an alliance."

I had feared for them walking into an ambush with mercenaries before, but this was infinitely worse. The temptation to advise them to turn back was overwhelming. They were unaware of the political situations that roiled in the Cauldron that I knew all too well. The players in these political games would not welcome a group of knights coming and potentially tipping the scales of power. However I could not reveal all that I knew without also revealing who I was, information that could also be dangerous to them if it were discovered that I was assisting them. In the end I settled on quietly guiding them to Arl Auber since he would do them no harm and would probably dissuade them from continuing with their plans for a proposed alliance with the Cauldron freeholds. This plan also ensured that I would accompany the knights to Herfirien before continuing on with my personal goals.

As I safely lay bare what I could of the realities of the situation, Ser Lion looked as near defeated as his pride would allow. He was unable to argue but couldn't resist one parting accusation, "And why exactly should we place our trust in you? You are some kind of scavenger preying off of our misfortune."

My patience was fraying and I began to recount within my mind all of the discomfort I had endured during the weeks previous, not to mention the indignities of the night before. I had killed to save that man's life, though he was oblivious to my actions. He stood before me in the bandage that I had wrapped around his head and accused me of taking advantage of them. His distrust was rooted in my profession, which he viewed as being beneath him; however it was a knight of his own ilk that had betrayed him. If he only knew who I really was and how hollow his petty prejudices rang on wise ears.

"Well you trusted that small knight that almost ran you through on the road, and would have done so were it not for me. Perhaps saving your life does not entitle me to your trust, Ser Lion, but I would wager it is a step in the right direction. As for being a scavenger preying off your misfortune, I think I have suffered equal amounts of misfortune on your behalf, not to mention inconvenience. You may not have been aware of it with your injury, but I was not required to help you as I did. If you feel you are better served without further aid I will take my leave of you now and allow you to wander these forests without guidance. I leave it entirely up to you." This was the final gauntlet between him and me.

As my words found their mark and realization finally reached through the proud knight's thick skull, I regretted how hastily I revealed the truth to him in my frustration. He suddenly seemed old and battered as he sat down and began to truly recount to himself what had happened the day before, reliving the death of his friends and the betrayal of his comrade. It was an unfair blow on my part, an injustice I tried to amend by reassuring him that his friends had been spared further indignity to their persons through burial, though they had not been afforded the pyre that true Andrastians would prefer, to ape the Prophetess in their final departure. I surrendered their affects into his hands along with the letters that I had discovered on the corpse of the betrayer.

Ser Lion read them numbly before passing them off to "the King of Ferelden," who also examined them, with far more care and a worried expression. For once my curiosity did not nag at me. From all that I had seen and experienced with these knights, I had no desire to know what bloody ends had begun this series of events. I was far too familiar with bloody ends that never seemed to end.

Upon further conference among the knights, it was decided that Ser Lion, "the King of Ferelden" and my red knight would continue on with my while the other two cautiously traced their way back to Redcliff and inform their superiors of the recent events. I could not argue the decision, smaller parties would travel faster and, though they no longer had horses, they also did not have the bulky armor slowing them down. It would take us almost a week on foot to reach Herfirien and it would take the other pair roughly two weeks to reach Redcliff with their limited supplies.

As we parted ways with the other two knights I considered what lay ahead of us and tried to ignore the knot that formed in my stomach. This journey was becoming more and more treacherous as each day passed.


	7. Interlude 2: The Tale of Demuth

**_Interlude 2: The Tale of Demuth_**

**_Folktale_**

_Some say it is only mages that can pierce the Fade and travel freely among its many ways. It is true that mages have a distinct advantage because they are better equipped to deal with the demons and evil predators that dwell there. However some others have been able to brave the dangers when given enough incentive and assistance. Thus it was with Demuth, a farmer's daughter._

_Demuth had one brother, Valten, and kept house for him after their parents died. They were freeholders and owned the land on which they lived and farmed, though it was only a small amount of land and they were very poor. Usually they grew just enough to feed themselves and if they had a particularly bad crop year they would be very hungry. The siblings were devoted to each other and helped one another through every difficulty that they faced and they were very happy together._

_Unbeknownst to them, however, a great jewel had been buried beneath an old standing stone at the south side of the farm by a lord many generations earlier. Not only was this jewel fabled to be large in size, it was believed to possess great power and would fulfill the deepest desire of whoever wielded it. No one knew why the lord had chosen to hide such a treasure, but he had told no one of its whereabouts and carried the secret to his grave. The descendants of this lord, for many years, did everything that they could to find the gem, but no one had succeeded. _

_Finally, a lord and descendant of the original owner, after many years of study and consulting with mages and wise men of all types, managed to discover the location where the jewel was buried. He was so excited that he hurried out, saddled his horse and rode to the farm where Demuth and Valten lived. _

_Valten was working in the fields and the lord called to him, "Ho, man, I want to buy your land. I will give you five casks of gold for it."_

_Valten was very startled by the offer but shook his head, "I am sorry, lord, but I cannot sell you this land. I swore an oath to my father that I would care for it. He has been dead for five winters and both he and my mother's bones are buried on this land as well. My family is one with this land and we are unable to sell it. Forgive me."_

_The lord was aghast and startled by such an outright refusal that he could not speak, but he could see that Valten was in earnest and he rode sadly away._

_The next day the lord returned and offered Valten ten casks of gold. Valten was so shocked that his mouth ran dry, but once again Valten refused, "I am sorry lord, but I cannot sell you this land. I swore an oath to my father that I would care for it." He gave the same reason he had given before and the lord rode sadly home as he had done on the previous day. _

_The lord returned again the third day, this time he offered twenty casks of gold for the land. Valten was so shocked that he almost fell over, but once again he refused the riches, "I am sorry, lord, but I cannot sell you this land. I swore an oath to my father that I would care for it." _

_The lord, seeing that Valten could not be moved to sell the land by offering him riches, rode away sadly and returned to his home. The discouraged lord gnashed his teeth and paced his floors, ignoring his duties and making himself quite ill. Even though he had the power, the lord knew that he couldn't just seize the land or openly kill Valten who, though poor, was well respected. Such action could cause a revolt among the freeholders, who would see the seizure of the land as a threat to themselves as well. He was consumed by his desire to obtain the jewel and despaired of ever being able to possess it. _

_The lord's daughter, whose name was Grede, realizing that her father was wasting away with his anxiety, coaxed him into telling her the cause of his distress. He explained to her about the jewel, about Valten who refused to sell the land and how this was thwarting the lord from possessing the jewel that he suspected would bring him great power._

_After listening to her father's tale of woe, Grede came up with a plan. By law, if a man married a woman and died before they had children or the marriage contract ran out, the property would go to the wife. If she were to marry Valten and he were to conveniently die, she would then become heir to his property and she could then turn it over to her father. The lord was skeptical of this plan because his daughter would have to marry beneath her station, but he desperately wanted the jewel and if Valten died then his daughter would be free again to marry whatever lord he settled on in order to make an alliance. So the lord agreed to his daughter's plan._

_The following day, Grede got dressed in a homespun dress, wore plain leather shoes and filled a skin of water. Instead of taking her favorite horse, she walked down to Valten and Demuth's farm. She watched quietly from the shade of an ash tree while Valten worked in the hot sun and waited until he looked extremely hot and tired. After a couple of hours he paused and stretched, the sweat beaded on his forehead and he breathed heavily. It was at that moment that she stepped forward, revealing herself. She offered Valten her water skin and gently mopped his brow with a dampened cloth. _

_Valten had been startled by the appearance of such a beautiful woman and his heart was softened by her kindness. She stayed with him the rest of the day, giving him water when he was thirsty, mopping his tired brow and refreshing him when he grew weary. As a result, he worked twice as hard that day and was able to get twice the work done. At the end of the day she bid him farewell and returned to her father's house and Valten returned to his farm house where Demuth had dinner waiting for him._

_Over dinner Valten told Demuth all about this beautiful woman who had helped him with his work that day. Demuth listened quietly, nodded her head and asked questions where appropriate. She could see that her brother was smitten with this woman and how happy he was that it made her happy for him. _

_The next day, much the same thing happened. Grede waited in the shade until Valten looked hot and tired and then offered him water and mopped his brow. Valten got twice as much work done and was extremely happy by the end of the day when Grede bid farewell and he returned to Demuth in the evening and regaled her with descriptions of the sweet girl that had helped him. _

_This continued on for a week and by week's end Valten returned home to Demuth and said, "Sister, I believe I have fallen in love with this woman. I cannot live without her. What shall I do?"_

_Demuth sat quietly and thought a moment before answering, "Then marry her, brother. Bring her home and I shall welcome her as a sister. I will teach her how to keep house for you and we will work together to care for our parents' land."_

_Valten was so overjoyed that the very next day he proposed to Grede and brought her to the center of the village in order to perform the rites. As was customary, based on the ways of the Awarian ancestors that had settled the mountains previously, Grede sang a hymn of the mountains while Valten untied a string of difficult knots. _

_In his excitement and happiness, Valten's fingers were clumsy and less nimble than usual and by the time that Grede was finished with her song only three knots had been untied. In the old days, when marriages were only temporary arrangements, the number of knots that the groom untied would have dictated the number of years the couple would remain married. At this time, the knots were meant to portend how strong the marriage would be and only having untied three knots was supposed to be a sign of ill luck. This greatly troubled Valten but Grede only laughed and said, "It looks like we will have to make our own luck."_

_With that, Valten brought Grede home to his sister and Demuth welcomed her with open arms. They all settled down together and, while Valten worked the fields, Demuth would spend the days teaching Grede how to care for a household. Grede, who was used to being waited on, struggled greatly trying to learn how to do the household chores and was very unhappy. _

_One day, under the guise of going to search for mushrooms from the surrounding woods, Grede went home to her father and expressed her unhappiness and demanded that he help her find a way to free herself from her marriage fast. Her father consulted blood mages and they provided Grede with a potion that would cause any victim to fall asleep and become lost in the Fade. While the spirit was lost and unable to return to the body, the victim's body would slowly waste away and die. Grede accepted this and returned to Demuth and Valten's home with the potion concealed in her clothes._

_The next day, Grede volunteered to make the dinner and make Valten's favorite jam. Demuth, knowing how unhappy her sister-in-law had been in learning the chores, took this to be a good sign and readily agreed. Grede, however, mixed the potion that the blood mages had given her into the jam while she was making it, knowing that Demuth did not care for jam and would not eat it. The two spent the day whistling and working quite happily until that night when Valten returned from the fields. Though the dinner meal was simple, both Valten and Demuth abstained from criticism because they knew how hard Grede had worked on the food. _

_Before the meal was over, Grede offered her husband a slice of bread with a hearty spread of her homemade jam across it. Valten gratefully accepted the bread from his wife and ate it, unaware of her treachery. He left the table complaining of being sleepy and went to bed immediately._

_The next day, Valten would not wake. He neither tossed or turned in his sleep, but lay as one dead. When Demuth examined him, he had no fever nor did he appear ill. Grede and Demuth sent for a wise man, who examined him but claimed to be unable to do anything, so Demuth pulled his blankets up to his chin and stated, "Perhaps he is merely tired and will wake tomorrow."_

_Valten did not wake the next day, or the next day, or the day after that and he could neither take food nor water because his sleep was so deep. His skin became yellow, his eyes became sunken and his flesh withered until he were just bones. Demuth wringed her hands with worry while she worked to care for the farm and Grede sat by him day and night, seeming to cry great tears, though secretly she was happy she would soon be a widow._

_After a week, Demuth went in search of a wise woman of the mountains who knew of things hidden to most and was rumored to live two days' journey away in a cave close to the summit of one of the tallest mountains. She climbed and climbed and eventually found the wise woman. _

_The wise woman, who had the gift of foresight, had known Demuth was coming and welcomed her into her rough but comfortable home, "Come in, mountain daughter, come in and rest yourself. You have had a long and weary journey and need to rest."_

_Demuth shook her head sadly, "I have no time to rest, mountain mother. My brother sleeps and will not wake. I fear he may be dying. Is there any way you can help me?"_

_The wise woman nodded her head and tugged her braid as she listened carefully to Demuth's description of her brother's ailment. After thinking for a while the old woman nodded, "It sounds as though your brother has lost his spirit in the slumbering world beyond. Unless his spirit can find its way back, his body will die."_

_"Is there any way that I can help him?" Demuth pleaded with the old woman._

_The old woman nodded, "I can teach you a song that can pass the veil and will call to your brother, guiding him home to his body." With this the old woman proceeded to teach Demuth the song and she learned it eagerly, memorizing it down to the strings of her heart until even her heart sang it with every beat._

_After Demuth had memorized the song completely, she took her leave of the old woman to return home to her brother. Before she left, however, the old woman advised Demuth to not allow Valten to eat any more jam, for that had been the cause of her brother's illness. Demuth accepted the instruction gratefully, suspecting nothing as to why the jam might have caused her brother to become ill, and promptly returned home._

_When she arrived, she discovered that her brother was even skinnier than he had been before and his breathing rattled in his chest. Demuth took Grede's place and sent her to fetch a large cup of water. Once she had the water, Demuth began to sing sweetly into her Valten's ear a song that pieced the divider between worlds and called to his spirit, guiding it back to his body. She sang for hours, pausing only to sip the water to keep her voice from becoming raspy with exertion. With each passing hour, Valten appeared to regain the color in his cheeks, his breathing ceased its rattling and his body seemed less shrunken. Demuth continued singing all night until, as the first rays brightened the world the following morning, Valten's eyes fluttered open._

_While Demuth was filled with joy at her brother's recovery, Grede was not. Her plan had been destroyed and she was still trapped in her marriage to Valten. The trio returned to their normal routines, except that Grede was twice as unhappy as she had been before and often cried herself to sleep at night._

_A year passed and Grede was in misery. One day, under the guise of going to search for wild flowers, she returned to her father's house. She pleaded with him to find a way to kill Valten and free her from her marriage, or she would lose her mind. Her father consulted again with blood mages and they in turn created a potion. This potion was twice as potent as the last potion. Any who ingested the potion would fall into a deep sleep, however, once in the Fade, the person's spirit would be withheld and prevented from returning to its body._

_Grede gratefully accepted the potion and returned to the farm with it concealed under her clothes. Knowing that Demuth no longer allowed jam to be made because of the old woman's warning, Grede came up with another way to slip Valten the potion. When preparing for the evening meal, Grede set the table and poured the beer for the three of them and put the potion in Valten's cup. When Valten returned from the field that night, the three sat down to eat and Valten, being very thirsty after a long day of work, drank down his beer quickly. Before the meal was over he was practically falling asleep at the table and excused himself to go to bed._

_The next day Valten did not awaken. Again he neither tossed nor turned in his sleep but lay as one dead. When Demuth examined him more closely he again seemed to have no fever nor appeared to be ill. His sleep was so deep that he could neither take food nor water. _

_Thinking that it was the same as the last time, Demuth had Grede fetch her a large cup of water and sang the song she had been taught by the old woman into her brother's ear, calling to his spirit and begging it to return to his body. She paused only occasionally to sip the water to keep her voice from becoming raspy and kept singing for hours. However, unlike the last time, Valten did not seem to improve the longer she sang, he only appeared to deteriorate faster. He did not awaken the next day or the day after that and Demuth's voice became sore and threatened to give out entirely. Seeing that it was not helping, Demuth stopped singing and wrung her hands with worry._

_The next day Demuth made the journey back to the wise woman to ask for her help. She climbed and climbed, though it was an easier trip because she now knew the way, until she came to the woman's home. Demuth was weary with sorrow and had all but given up hope._

_Once again, the wise woman had seen Demuth approaching and welcomed her into her home, "Come in, mountain daughter, come in and rest yourself. You have had a long and weary journey and need to rest."_

_As with the last time, Demuth sadly shook her head, "I have no time to rest, mountain mother. My brother sleeps and will not wake. I fear he may be dying. Is there any way you can help me?"_

_Demuth went on to explain the failure of the song she had used to wake her brother the previous time and that her brother appeared to be deteriorating even faster than before. The wise woman nodded her head and tugged her braid as she listened carefully to Demuth's description of her brother's ailment. After thinking for a while the old woman nodded, "It sounds as though your brother has once again lost his spirit in the slumbering land beyond. This time, however, something has trapped his spirit and prevents it from returning back to his body when you call. You will not be able to return him to you by merely singing and if his spirit does not return then his body will die."_

_"Is there any way that I can help him?" Demuth pleaded with the old woman._

_The old woman thought for a long time and went searching among her effects for something. After a while she returned carrying an old pendant hanging from a leather cord. The old woman handed it to Demuth and explained, "Wear this and when you sleep you will be able to travel through the slumbering land and find your brother. He is probably trapped by another spirit and you must convince the spirit to release him. Sing to the spirit the song I will teach you and the spirit should relent and allow you to guide your brother back to his body." With this, the old woman taught Demuth the song to appease the spirit and help release her brother. Demuth memorized the song with every drop of her blood so that she was completely filled with it and if she had received one cut she would have bled music._

_After Demuth had memorized the song completely, she took her leave of the old woman to return home to her brother. Before she left, however, the wise woman outlined the laws of the Fade and warned Demuth to carefully abide by them: do not accept anything from another, even if it is offered as a gift and do not cross beyond the mist at the edge of the slumbering land or she would cross over to the land of the dead for there were grave consequences if she did. _

_Demuth promised to abide by the laws of the Fade and walked out of the woman's home. The old woman called after her, warning Demuth to not allow Valten to drink any more beer, for that had been the cause of her brother's illness. Demuth accepted the instruction gratefully, suspecting nothing as to why the beer might have caused her brother to become ill, and promptly returned home._

_When she arrived, Valten was hardly breathing any more and had been reduced to skin and bones. Demuth told Grede to leave them and go search for wild herbs in the woods while she sat with Valten. Grede accepted this, thinking that Demuth wanted time alone to say her farewells before Valten died. She went ahead to her father's house and spent the night there in comfort, planning to return the following day and find Valten dead. After Grede left, Demuth locked the door and sat down next to her brother and promptly fell asleep._

_Once asleep, Demuth found herself in the fade and began to walk, searching for her brother. She walked for a long time, calling her brother's name and listening carefully to see if he would answer her. Eventually she thought she heard her brother's voice calling out to her from a distance, though weakly. She headed in the direction that his voice seemed to be coming from and came to a large river with a small island in the middle. Just beyond the island a heavy mist swirled and obscured the other side of the river. She thought she heard her brother's voice coming from the island, so Demuth waded into the water until it came up to her waist and then she began to swim out to the island._

_She managed to reach the island, but was very tired and could only just manage to drag herself up onto shore. She looked up to the middle of the island and saw her brother. He was standing and had been tied to a tree with vines. He looked so tired that the vines securing him to the tree seemed to be the only thing holding him upright. _

_Mustering her strength, Demuth struggled to her feet and went to her brother. Just as she was about to reach him and lay hands on the vines to release him, a large specter appeared before her and barred her way. _

"_Who dares to release my prisoner?" The specter roared and towered over Demuth._

_Though Demuth was frightened she spoke up, "I am Demuth and you are holding my brother against his will. I have come to request that you release him so that I might bring him home with me."_

"_What boon have you to offer to ransom him?" The specter questioned with another roar._

"_I offer a song." With this, Demuth began to sing the song that the old woman had taught her. It was a song so beautiful, so full of life, that the specter seemed to wane and visibly soften._

_When the song had been completed the specter nodded to her, "I have been appeased. You may take your brother home and, since you have sung so well I wish to offer a gift." The specter reached out his hand and offered a fabulous gem, but Demuth remembered what the old woman had said, politely refused and proceeded to collect her brother from his prison while the vines untwined themselves from around his wrists and ankles._

_Demuth, though she was very tired, helped her brother to swim back over the river and she helped him to return back the way she had come, guiding him to his own body that slumbered next to hers. _

_When Grede came home early the next day she found Valten and Demuth sitting in his room, laughing and talking about what he had missed during his time asleep. When his shocked wife pressed him, Valten did not recall anything that had occurred to him within the Fade nor how he managed to awaken. Demuth did recall, but did not say anything about it to her sister-in-law, fearing that it would worry her. _

_Things went back to normal for the three except that Grede was thrice as unhappy. Another year passed and Grede was so unhappy that she could hardly sleep at all. She discovered that she was with child and though Valten was thrilled to be having a baby, Grede was not. She knew that if Valten did not die before the child was born the child would be the heir and inherit the land. She knew that she would not be able to return to her life as it had been before unless Valten were to die and she left the child behind._

_Using the guise gathering wild berries, she left the home of her husband and sister-in-law and went to her father's home. She pleaded with her father and begged him to find a way to kill Valten and free her from her miserable marriage or she would be forced to kill herself. The lord consulted with blood mages once again and they created a potion thrice as potent as the last potion. This potion would cause the victim to fall into a deep sleep and the victim's spirit would become lost in the Fade. Also the effects of the potion would attract demons who would consume the spirit of the victim and the victim's body would die._

_Grede gratefully accepted the potion and went back to Valten and Demuth's house with the potion concealed under her clothes. They no longer ate jam or drank beer, for Demuth had exiled both from the house after Valten's previous illnesses, but she thought that perhaps she might put it in Valten's stew while she served the family at dinner. Everything seemed to be going to plan and she was cheerful as she worked around the house that day._

_That night, when Valten returned from the fields, the family prepared to eat. Grede began to serve the stew but Valten, in an attempt to assist his wife and ease her burdens, took the stew bowls shortly after Grede had ladled it out and placed the potion in Valten's bowl. However, Valten mixed the bowls up when placing them on the table. That night they all ate ravenously and, exhausted from the day's activity, they all went to bed right after dinner and fell asleep._

_The next morning, Grede did not awaken. She neither tossed nor turned in her sleep but lay as one dead. When Demuth examined her more closely she seemed to have no fever nor appeared to be ill. Her sleep was so deep that she could neither take food nor water. Her breathing was shallow and so sporadic that at times it appeared that she had stopped breathing altogether. Valten was terrified on seeing her state and wept uncontrollably at her bedside. Demuth tried singing her spirit back to her, but it did not help and made Grede thrash violently and Demuth stopped for fear Grede would injure herself further._

_Once again Demuth set out to see the wise woman on the mountain. She climbed swiftly and surely, pushing herself to move faster so that she made the trip in half the time. Demuth was driven on by the terror of losing her sister-in-law and the baby, knowing that such a loss would kill her brother as well._

_Once again, the wise woman had seen Demuth approaching and welcomed her into her home, "Come in, mountain daughter, come in and rest yourself. You have had a long and weary journey and need to rest."_

_As with the last time, Demuth sadly shook her head, "I have no time to rest, mountain mother. My sister-in-law sleeps and will not wake. I fear she may be dying and she carries my brother's child. Is there any way you can help me?"_

_Demuth went on to describe how weak Grede's breathing was and how the song to call her back only made her violently disturbed. The wise woman nodded her head and tugged her braid as she listened carefully to Demuth's description of her sister-in-law's ailment. After thinking for a while the old woman nodded, "I have grave tidings. Your sister-in-law is being held captive by a demon who is consuming her life through her spirit. She will be unable to return when you call. You will not be able to return her to her body by singing and the demon will not willingly let her spirit go. If her spirit does not return then her body will die and the unborn child will die with her. _

_"Is there any way that I can save her and the baby?" Demuth pleaded with the old woman._

_The old woman looked troubled and thought for a long time. She pulled out parchments and read them before tossing them aside with disgust. She muttered words unknown to men and paced the granite floor of her home. She sat and looked into her fire for a long time before speaking again to Demuth gravely, "There may be a way to rescue your sister-in-law, but it is fraught with danger. You would have to use the pendant to enter the slumbering land beyond again and find your sister-in-law's spirit. When you find her she will be trapped and there will be a terrifying demon standing guard over her. You will not be able to sing the demon into passivity and you will not be able to take a physical weapon from this world to help you battle it. However, a song, if it is the right song, can become a blade. I will teach you the song of the twin daggers if you desire it and they will arm you for battle with the demon, but you should know something before you undertake such a risk on your sister-in-law's behalf."_

_With that, the old woman revealed what she had known all along with her foresight: that Grede had betrayed Demuth and Valten, plotting his death and using potions from blood mages to harm him. Demuth was shocked and dismayed to hear the truth, but she did not waver in her resolve to save Grede. The old woman, seeing Demuth's courage and loyalty, taught her the songs that would protect her and harm the fiend that held Grede captive in the Fade. Demuth memorized the song with every tear in her soul so that the music replaced the tears and left only Love and Hope behind, the twin blades that can defeat any fiend and allow no room for fear._

_Once Demuth had memorized the song, she thanked the old woman and left with great haste, flying over the rocks like a mountain goat. When she returned home her brother had given up all hope and was inconsolable. He was so upset that he refused to eat and simply sat by Grede, holding her hand. _

"_Do not fear, brother." Demuth took his hand and reassured him, "I will bring her back to you. Both she and the child will be safe. You must go outside for me and find the herbs that I require to make a poultice, do not return until you have found them all, even if it takes you all night. We are depending on you."_

_She did not need to ask him twice, he took down the list of herbs and went out into the hills to gather them, unaware that she had asked for things that would be near impossible to find during that time of year. When he had gone she locked the door, tied the pendant around her neck and fell asleep next to Grede. Demuth awoke in the Fade and began to search for Grede's spirit, calling for her as she went._

_Demuth came once again to a river, and in the center of it was another island, larger than the one here brother had been held captive on. It was a farther swim and the island was so close to the mist border that the mist could have swirled and engulfed it at any second. Demuth thought she could faintly hear Grede's voice calling for help from the island but she could not see her, so she waded in and swam. The river current was strong here and she struggled to keep her head above water, after what seemed like an eternity she crawled on shore and rested for a moment before hoisting herself onto her feet. She had barely taken two steps forward when a large behemoth with horns stood before her, barring her path. It snorted and snuffed wildly, pawing the ground as if about to charge and Demuth knew that this was the demon. _

"_Trespasser!" it bellowed, "Thief! You can not have what I have taken!"_

_With that it sprang forward with surprising speed and Demuth just barely managed to dive out of the way. Before he could turn and charge again, Demuth began to sing and with her song she found each hand armed with a blade so keen that it could cut without a whistle or whisper. The behemoth attacked again and again, but Demuth continued singing and the blades slicing at the demon until it was covered in black blood. Once the demon managed to gore Demuth's thigh with its horn, but it left him open enough for one of the blades to find its mark. The demon staggered back and crashed to the ground, seeming to rock the whole Fade with his fall. _

_After the demon had been dispatched, Demuth limped a little further onto the island, coming close to the border of the mist when she found Grede. Even in her weariness, Demuth tenderly helped her sister out of her bonds and assisted her forward, urging her to stay away from the mist and warning her not to take anything she should find on the way home._

_Demuth assisted Grede in swimming away from the island and, when they reached the opposite shore, found that she had to rest a moment or be overcome with exhaustion. As she sat quite still, Grede saw something shimmer near her on the shore. While Demuth was not looking Grede picked up a tiny pearl. It was perfectly round and appeared to glow in the dim light. Thinking there could be no harm in it; Grede took the pearl and placed it in her pocket before Demuth insisted that they continue on their way, retracing the steps back to their sleeping bodies._

_When Valten returned the following day, having begged all the neighbors and friends desperately seeking the various herbs that he had been unable to procure after searching all night in the hills, he found both Grede and Demuth were awake. He rejoiced, kissed his wife, embraced his sister and allowed his relief to wash over him. Grede did not remember anything of the Fade and Demuth remembered but chose to say nothing so that her brother would not worry. _

_Things did not go back to normal for the three of them after that. From that day forward, though her legs appeared straight and healthy, Demuth had a limp for the rest of her days and needed the help of a walking stick to get around. Grede seemed far more content sharing her life with her husband and sister-in-law and never again went back to her father. Even in her new found contentment, Grede never completely recovered and would often be hounded by nightmares that would wake her from a sound sleep and she was unable to recall them afterwards. _

_Grede gave birth to a healthy son, but died before the year was out from a wasting illness. Valten was heart broken and never married again, though he carried on with his responsibilities just as he had sworn to his parents that he would do. On the day Grede died, Demuth discovered among her things a tiny pearl which made her uneasy. Feeling that the pearl would bring nothing but ill, she buried it with Grede and never thought of it again. _

_The boy was raised by Demuth and grew up to be honorable and well respected, just as his father was. Eventually, many years down the road, Valten and Grede's son found a beautiful jewel while digging to move some stones from the south end of the farm. The son took it to the lord that was reigning over the land and offered it to him as a tribute, feeling that such a jewel was impractical for a farmer to possess. The lord accepted the gift, not knowing that the giver was the son of his sister who had run off many years before, never to be spoken of by his father or heard from again. The jewel became a part of his collection and was eventually forgotten among all the rest of his wealth._


	8. Chapter 5: Imperceptible Path

**Chapter 5 – The Imperceptible Path**

**_Alistair_**

As the woods loomed around us, Svenya led us by a worn and near imperceptible footpath between the trees, pausing every so often to examine things that only she was able to ascertain. She explained that there had once been flourishing chantries in the Cauldron. The brothers and sisters had travelled freely on a series of narrow footpaths between the villages and freeholds to minister to the greatly scattered flock and carry messages.

I asked if we might meet a member of the Chantry on the path to which she laughed mirthlessly, stating that the chantry had given up such regular travel years ago, opting to minister closer to their own doors and allow the truly needy to travel to them. She implied that it was no longer safe and was frowned upon but was vague about the reasons why, refusing to elaborate. Instead she continued on about how the web of Chantry trails were a skeleton of a far larger series of goat paths originally created by the mountain tribes that had settled the area hundreds of years before. The Avvarian mountain folk established these paths in order to migrate safely with their flocks of goats between the upper crags of the Frostback ranges and the lower Cauldron valleys hundreds of years before. When the winters became harsh these nomadic tribes would take shelter in communities within the valleys until spring and keep the wayward goats in paddocks with stores of long mountain moss that they gathered on their yearly journeys, regularly laying up what they collected in their wintering banks every time the tribe passed through during the warmer months.

"Humph," snorted Ser Grey sullenly, "How is a bard such as you so schooled in the history of mountain goat herds?"

Svenya shrugged, "I grew up in these mountains and was cared for by a woman who claimed to hail from those nomadic Avvarian tribes. She would regularly travel the paths when she collected herbs and I accompanied her. While we walked she taught me the stories and songs of her ancestors to pass the time, also sharing what their markers looked like that revealed the safe paths and how to find them. When I grew older I explored some of the paths myself and they became quite useful to me."

"I'm surprised that your parents allowed you to wander when the paths were as dangerous to the Chantry as you implied," I commented, trying to subtly pull forth some more information.

Svenya sobered with the words, "There were some dangers closer to home."

Forthwind sensed her discomfort as well and tried to change the subject, "So you know folk tales as well as music. Was it this knowledge that swayed your decision to become a minstrel and wandering story teller?"

"No," she answered without looking at us, "I became a bard out of necessity after I left. When one needs to eat, one works with what one has on hand. All I had were the clothes on my back and the head on my shoulders. Singing and storytelling put coins in my purse and food in my stomach. People are also less likely to injure those they find entertaining…" adding under her breath so that I barely caught it, "unless they are those who are entertained by causing injury."

"So you have known both types." I observed more for myself than expecting an answer.

She shook her head as if to clear it of something she remembered, "Aye."

"Well then," Forthwind cleared his throat, valiantly changing the subject once again to save our Lady Bard from unpleasant thoughts, "tell us a tale of the mountain people to wile away the hours of walking."

The request visibly cheered her and she began to regale us with a tale of a woman named Demuth, who passed into the Fade with the help of a charm given to her by a mountain wise woman. It was an interesting tale, well told, and I mused to myself afterwards, "Do you believe it is possible for ordinary people to willingly pass into the Fade?"

I had once made such a trip myself, but that was against my will when I was under the influence of a demon. The details were hazy and hard to describe, much like it was for the characters in the story. Perhaps that is what happens when one travels in the fade unwillingly or without the clarity of thought that most mages possess.

"The woman I spoke of before was able to do it. She entrusted such a secret to me when I was old enough to understand. I have never done it myself, but you never know when such knowledge will become useful." She confided this absently, as if she wasn't fully considering the implications of her words.

Perhaps it had been intended to impress us, but Ser Grey grumbled again, "Ungodly apostates and blood mages."

Suddenly Svenya turned to face us, stopping us short. Her voice came in low, controlled tones that belied the angrily glittering eyes, "She was no apostate and did harm to no one. Do not throw around words you know nothing of in these mountains. A carelessly thrown word causes more damage than a dagger drawn. Only Templars speak such things without concerns for the consequences."

Forthwind and I were taken aback but the sudden eruption did not ruffle Ser Grey's stony countenance. He simply nodded ascent and Svenya, apparently satisfied, turned on her heel again to continue walking up the path at a brisk pace. There were moments where we three seasoned knights struggled to keep up as the path began to incline and crags visibly rose up around us. We had been trained for battle but had grown accustomed to the luxury of a horse in place of marching. None of us dared to beg for mercy or rest from the woman who led us, fearing to betray weakness. Ser Grey was wheezing between clenched teeth after a few hours but stubbornly held to his silence. It didn't seem fair that he was the offending party and yet we were all forced to endure this sore footed revenge being enacted by our guide. As king I felt obligated to appease the wrath of a woman who had apparently been raised by mountain goats.

"Lady Bard," I huffed and swallowed when I lost sight of her around a bend around some boulders and brush, "this is lovely country. Why ever did you leave?"

She stood waiting for me when I walked around the brush, "What you really want is to stop and rest, isn't it?"

"No Lady, no," I denied as my brain silently enthused, _"Yes Lady, yes!"_

She crossed her arms and waited a moment longer while Forthwind and Ser Grey caught up before announcing, "You should rest a moment, gentlemen, while I scout ahead for the next marker."

She was walking away when Ser Grey barked at Forthwind, "Accompany the Bard and ensure that she is safe," which elicited a glance over the shoulder from Svenya, but there were no arguments from either as Forthwind trotted to catch up.

"That woman will be the death of me," grumbled Ser Grey when he was sure they were out of ear shot.

"Try not to antagonize her," I advised, "and would you please explain why I must now be referred to as Ser Alan Sellose?"

"Pardon me, your Highness," he explained slowly, as if talking to a young child, "but you must recall that we already agreed you should travel incognito before we left Denerim. Now that there is obviously a plot against your life, secrecy is the safest option. Besides, you heard her response when you told her the truth: she thought you were joking. When our mission has been completed you can do whatever your conscience dictates, your Majesty, but for the time being you should allow me to do my job and follow my counsel for your own safety."

I sighed. I didn't like the lie, but I couldn't argue against Ser Grey's reasoning. She hadn't believed me when I tried to tell her the truth. At this point I wasn't really culpable for lying, it was just the necessity of the situation…wasn't it?

The uneasiness in the pit of my stomach said otherwise and it was a vaguely familiar feeling.

There wasn't time to discuss it further since Forthwind and Svenya returned at that moment. She pointed to the tree lined fringe above, "If we walk for at least two more hours along this path we should be able to reach the far side of the ridge and find a decent place to camp before nightfall…provided you gentlemen can manage to keep up."

Ser Grey's jaw seemed tight as he resolutely stood up again from the stump he had been sitting on. He was determined to see this journey to the end and would not be baited by our smirking guide. As rarely as I pray, I cast my eyes heavenward and appealed for some grace on our endeavor so that Ser Grey didn't kill her before we reached our destination. Somehow, though I loathed admitting it to myself, the situation reminded me of the antagonism between Morgan and myself, though this one seemed like a much quieter battle of wills.

With thoughts of Morrigan came thoughts of her… my chest felt tight again. Why could I never be free from her? A thousand miles away from any familiar place of remembrance and memories of her still hounded me. She would often cast a glance skyward, as if looking for guidance in the midst of my arguments with Morrigan. She never demanded that we agree or that we even _like_ each other, she respected us far too much for that. All she asked of us was that we put aside our differences long enough to do what we were called to do, and we followed her, we did what she asked. How did she do it?

"Thank you, Lady," I nodded and pressed onward, trying to illustrate by example what she would have expected of me, what I think she would have done herself. Forthwind followed me and Ser Grey brought up the rear. We made good time and managed to hit the ridge as Svenya predicted. On reaching the overlook I stopped a moment and took my first glimpse of the Cauldron. The sun was low against the mountains on the far side of the valley and caused the fir trees to cast long shadows and the few yellowing oak trees looked like sickly ghosts scattered among them. What was left of the sunlight created an overpowering orange glow, bathing everything in warmth and renewed me slightly before we began to descend into the valley.

There was a clearing a mile or two down the path that had decent tree cover. Ser Grey looked slightly worn and it occurred to me that perhaps his head wound was bothering him more than he let on. I declared to the others, "This seems the best place to stop. It is starting to get dark; we should start a fire and bed down for the night."

Svenya concurred and Ser Grey nodded haggardly, so I turned to Forthwind, "See to Ser Grey, cleanse his wounds and change his bandages. I will secure the perimeter and look for some fire wood."

"I will search for a water source nearby and fill the skin," Svenya volunteered as she went off to the west of camp. Whatever else could be said of her, she made every attempt to be helpful.

With the sun fast fading, it was starting to get colder, but I refused to rush. Since we had already been ambushed once it was most important that the perimeter be examined for any clues of wild animals or other unwelcome guests. I found some sticks that would serve for a small fire, which was all we could afford since we wanted to attract as little attention as possible. When I came around to the west side of the camp I came across Svenya at a small stream.

It was an odd sensation to move about without my armor and I realized how quietly I moved without it. I knew I wasn't particularly stealthy, but Svenya did not notice me as I approached since her back was to me. In that unguarded moment, I took the opportunity to study her. In the dimness I could just make out the water skin, newly filled and resting against a nearby trunk. She was on her knees and bent over the water, using it to wash her hands and arms. It had to be cold, but she didn't seem to mind. Her skin was so pale that it almost seemed to glow in the gathering darkness. Her fingers were slender and delicate, which was probably helpful when she played her lute. She leaned forward again, stretching out a slender neck while her dark braid dangled against it softly. Her movements were graceful, almost like a bird preening itself. It wasn't until she splashed a large handful of the water into her face that I realized that she had taken off the mask. It would have been so easy to sneak a peak and my curiosity was burning. All I would have to do was remain hidden until she got up and turned around, she would never know.

At that moment my conscience niggled at me. I thought back to the previous night as she scrabbled with her hands in her hair, desperate, almost oblivious to all except retying the mask to her face. Who was I to take that security from her so casually? It would have been like walking in on her naked, vulnerable. I have done horrid things and hurt people, Maker forgive me, but there were certain things I would not do.

I conspicuously cleared my throat, pretended that I was only just approaching very noisily, breaking a few twigs under foot for good measure so she was well warned of my presence and had the opportunity to make herself presentable, "Lady, have you filled the water skin? It might be best to return to the camp now. The night is falling fast."

"I'm coming," she called, carefully tying the mask's thongs before getting up and turning around with the water skin. Inwardly I congratulated myself for my gentlemanly restraint, though I doubted any other man would consider it a notable victory.

When we returned to camp I started the fire and brought to life a very small, smoky showing of flames. We dared not make a large fire and kept it small so that it made a little ring of light that we gathered around and roasted potatoes in the coals. Ser Grey insisted on assigning watch since I had taken charge while setting up camp. We would rotate every few hours so that everyone could get decent sleep before our continued trek the next day. Svenya insisted on being assigned a rotation along with us knights. Ser Grey, who had been sitting against a tree, sputtered and sat up straighter, ready to do battle with the "upstart Lady Bard." I hastily intervened hoping to avoid a verbal skirmish over our pathetic little campfire.

"Lady, your offer is appreciated, but…" I began to mediate before I was summarily cut off.

"Lady I am not," she laughed, "for ladies can not be fools. Bards play fools in turn with their jests and follies. I cannot be bard and lady both, I must be one or I must be nothing. Nothing is safer than barding, but nothings rarely have to eat. Just call me Svenya or call me `Bard' as Ser Lion insists on doing or call me nothing."

This was the first sign of humor I had seen her display and it strike me slightly dumb the way words rolled off her tongue, curling like the smoke off of the fire. Forthwind recovered before I did and smiled, slightly bashful with the pleasant surprise of it, "You could never be a _nothing_ in my eyes and it does not seem appropriate to just call you by name; to me you will always be a lady."

She studied him quietly a moment, as if measuring her response before she spoke, "Ser Forthwind, you offer me undue honor. Please just call me Svenya, if only to appease the lady you perceive me to be."

"Since you request it, I shall comply as long as I am your `red knight,'" he nodded to her with a chuckle and a mock bow of his head.

"Such courtly word games are beneath a true knight," growled Ser Grey again before he settled back against the tree again, abandoning the field of battle over who would take watch when faced with Svenya's weapon of wit. She had managed to win the day without even having to fight the lion.

Seeing the potential fight over before it had begun, I decided to continue the conversation, "Far be it for me to pry, but I believe I asked you earlier why you had chosen to leave these mountains and travel to the south. Now that we aren't struggling to follow an imperceptible path, would you mind if I asked again?"

The mirth died slightly in her eyes as they glittered through the slits of the mask, but her voice remained light, "One jest too many. I fell afoul of the liege lord that I lived under and had to leave to save my neck."

"Then why come back? If you are making a living elsewhere, why risk it?"

She shrugged but didn't look directly at me, "I have business to attend to, and being a bard and a fool it can only seem foolish business to you. Nothing you need concern yourself with." With that she pulled her lute from her bag and began tuning it absently, pointedly turning her attention away from me.

This should have been a cue to me that she was done talking, but my mind wandered back to seeing her by the stream again and my curiosity swelled slightly, crowding out my common sense, "If you will suffer another foolish question from a knight, why do you wear the mask?"

Her brow furrowed slightly above the top edge of the mask, but she did not take her eyes off the lute strings, plucking at them thoughtfully before answering, "You heard what I told the mercenaries."

"Is that really why?" I asked with an edge of humor in my tone.

"No, but it certainly sounds more interesting than the truth."

"Well then," I tried to lead out the answer, "what is the truth?"

"The truth can be one of two things: either I am exceedingly beautiful or hideously ugly."

"Which is it?"

"Does it matter?" she raised her head and stared me down a moment with the most withering look a woman in a mask can manage, "You are not going to see it either way. Imagine what you like and be done with it."

As if to draw the matter to a close, she turned back to the newly tuned instrument and started to sing a song softly while she played:

"Women are better soldiers,

though many men boast of bravery,

for we suffer the slings and arrows best

of Love's tyrannical slavery.

Men many wounds receive

on countless battlefields,

but those scars fade in time

while wounds of Love never heal.

So few women are soldiers

and heed the hero's gaudy call -

while men play with swords

women silently save us all.

Many men say we are frail,

that is a truth I cannot dismiss:

while men can survive a battle

we can be killed with a kiss.

But even after we have died in heart

we continue soldiering on

and carry the burden of living

long after the men have gone."

By the end of it Ser Grey snored lightly in harmony with Forthwind's even breathing as he slept oblivious to this exchange. The song was slightly biting, taunting, and daring me to argue. She was measuring me, waiting for a reaction, maybe expecting a fight. Was I suddenly the recipient of her ire because I had pushed the boundaries of what she was willing to share with a stranger?

"I had been thinking to myself as we walked today and I reflected on the armor that I remembered seeing you all wear as I followed you from Redcliffe." She abruptly spoke and I listened carefully, "The armor seemed tailored to each man. However, I had been most curious about your helmet. Somehow it reminded me of something that has been evading me and bothering me until now…"

"_This is it,"_ I thought to myself, _"she has realized that I'm actually the King of Ferelden and will be upset with me because I went along with the whole `Ser Alan Sellose' ruse that Ser Grey concocted. Oh this will be fun…"_

Finally she spoke with a voice that held quiet and accusing certainty, "Your helmet resembled the ones I saw the Templars wearing when they swept through Cloughbark after they set up a base of operations in Swidden. Are you a Templar?" Though it was worded as a question, the tone said she knew the answer. "Are you actually coming here to join the ones in Swidden? Is that what your `diplomatic mission' is about?"

I had been prepared for a completely different accusation and I almost laughed with relief, but I refrained remembering the scene from earlier on the path and the way she had spat out the word "Templar" like it tasted of rancid meat. Feeling this was a pivotal moment in earning this woman's trust, I admitted, "I was trained to become a Templar."

Her eyes suddenly became a wash of cascading emotions that were hard to read behind the mask. It felt like I was standing before someone with a crossbow sited on me. I held up my hands, palms out, to communicate that I meant no harm and fend off the angry bolts from her dark eyes. I continued, "I never became a Templar, though; I never hunted apostates. I swear by the blood of Andraste that I speak the truth. I was conscripted…"

The incredulous snort interrupted the rest of the explanation and communicated what she thought of my oath. Otherwise she seemed mollified by what I had said and I thought it better not to continue.

With that she turned away and chose a tree to learn against, crooking her head into her cloak like I had seen her do the evening before in the thicket, resembling a water bird about to sleep. Before falling asleep I heard her voice say flatly, "Well, _your Majesty_, I appreciate your honesty. I apologize for jumping to conclusions. It is your past and we won't speak of this again."

She seemed to drift off shortly thereafter and I continued to watch her while she slept. At that moment I hated myself because I had not been completely honest with her. It was a familiar regret, one based in the fact that I never said what really mattered; I always stopped short of sharing the whole truth until it was too late. I had been guilty of it before and I was even guiltier of it now because I had long since learned better. Now my own silence trapped me and I was confounded on how I should make things right.


	9. Chapter 6: Keeping a Low Guard

**Chapter 6: Keeping a Low Guard**

_**Svenya**_

After the first day of guiding my three knights to Herfirien, the days of travel began to take on a quality that made them seem to run together, like one long continuous day broken and interspersed by occasional conversations with the laughing knight and Rian, the red knight. Ser Lion remained distant, refusing to join in on the discussions, opting to remain morose and disapproving throughout, only offering terse suggestions when he deemed it necessary. The uneasy, unwilling familiarity with these men at times distracted me from all of the dark memories surfacing as we continued to draw closer to their destination. My nights were immersed with dreams that I would have preferred to forget upon waking but found myself unable to do.

Some were hazy memories of Templars burning an Avvarian village, women and children screaming, running frantically to hide and finding no place to do so. The air was being choked with smoke and the stench of death while I was forced to watch, held from behind by a captor I cannot see, regardless of how I struggle to free myself from the cruel grip. The silhouettes and hulking shapes of men in armor against the flames, faces hidden in dark helmets as they scavenged like packs of dire wolves the burning wreckage for any they missed: these images were forefront in many of the dreams. Between the flames and the men there was the hungry howling of harsh winds, spreading the flames beyond the village and into the surrounding trees and forest.

It was to a similar howling that I was awakened in the wee hours of morning halfway through our journey. I started when Rian shook me roughly by the shoulder, "Wake Svenya! We are surrounded!"

My sleep addled brain initially thought he was referring to more mercenaries or that the Templars of my nightmares had found us, but coming back to myself I could just make-out the yellow eyes in the shadows around the camp. These were not Templars, these were wolves and they were stalking us, circling the camp as if measuring our defenses, looking for a moment to strike.

Ser Lion and the laughing knight were already on their feet, swords unsheathed, looking grim. We did not speak as Rian helped me up as well and I carefully pulled a dagger from under my cloak. Finally Ser Lion instructed, "Keep your back to the center of the circle, Bard. Our best chance is if we watch each other's backs and remain ready for when they strike. Keep calm and don't make any sudden movements. Just wait for them to act first. There is no point in charging ahead blindly and leaving your flank undefended."

_"Stay calm?"_ my mind churned, but I kept quiet. My palms felt sweaty and those yellow eyes watching me from the darkness made the hair prickle on the back of my neck. In spite of my sweating I felt a chill down to my core: these wolves were not acting like ordinary wolves for this time of year.

I had grown up in these mountains, I had been taught the wolves' habits in order to avoid antagonizing them unnecessarily and remain safe. They did not randomly attack people en mass when there was plenty of other food available for them during the early autumn. Wolf attacks were uncommon except in cases towards the end of long winters when they became particularly desperate or came across a potential singular target that was sick or injured. An entire pack would never attack a group of humans like this. This was bad…really _bad!_

Getting my bearings, I took note of my stance and where I was in regards to everyone else. Rian was to my left, Ser Lion was somewhere behind me and his Majesty was on the far side of the clearing. I entertained the hope that perhaps the wolves would see that we were not easy pickings and slink back into the woods until one particularly bold alpha leapt forward and snapped at me. Rian sliced at him effortlessly, injuring him in the shoulder. The wolf yelped in pain and retreated back into the shadows of the trees only to be replaced by another one hurdling forward to attack.

I was near useless and I envied the reach that the knights could achieve with their swords, but I didn't have time to bemoan it. The wolves were closing in and it was getting continually harder to stay beyond their jaws with my dagger in hand. Eventually Rian placed himself in front of me and I was guarded on the other side by Ser Lion, but the wolves kept coming. Sellose held his own, but Ser Lion barked at him, "Get back here and help me defend the Bard. You're leaving your flank open."

"A little busy here," he growled through clenched teeth as he parried two of the beasts at once. Ser Lion didn't have time to reprimand him because more sprang to our opposite flank and found a hole in Rian's defense. One caught him in the thigh before he could run it through. He groaned and went down on one knee, placing him at a disadvantage, bringing his head closer to their jaws. A wolf sprang, jaws open, without a thought I flung my dagger into the wolf's jaw. I deflected the attack, but I had also succeeded in completely disarming myself. I grabbed up Rian's sword where it had fallen on the ground and bodily placed myself between him and the bulk of the onslaught as he struggled vainly to return to his feet. Ser Lion bellowed at me, "Keep a low guard!"

"What?" I cried. I was staring the wolves down from just beyond the tip of the blade and desperately trying not to blink for fear of being caught unaware. Lacking any kind of training with a sword I settled on simply pointing the sharp end at the wolves to dissuade them from attacking, but it was so heavy compared to my dagger that I just felt clumsy.

Ser Lion tried to guide me while defending himself and Rian's other side, "Keep calm. Try to keep the blade low. Don't worry about swinging unless they come at you directly. Use their momentum against them and let them throw themselves against the blade in their haste."

I swallowed hard and nodded. At that moment one heaved itself towards me and with a flick of my wrist ended with its neck impaled and me dislodging it with a kick of my boot. Blood was soaking the ground and moving my feet made a sickening sucking sound with each step. As time passed my arms began to ache with the tension and trembled with the weight of the sword.

Then, just as suddenly as they had attacked, the wolves withdrew and melted back into the shadows that were dissipating with the rising sun. I was able to finally turn and examine the extent of Rian's wounds. He had two deep, distinct punctures from the wolf's teeth along with some further tearing of the flesh, though mostly superficial. If cleaned and treated properly it would heal well enough, but it would also hobble him slightly when he walked which would slow all of us down while we travelled; it would add another two days to our journey while we nursed his leg. Aside from that, he would have difficulties defending himself if we were attacked again.

"Great," griped Ser Lion with exasperation, "as if we did not already have enough problems. What did I tell you about leaving gaps in your defenses, farm boy?"

"Easy, Ser Grey, easy! We were all caught unaware by the attack," Sellose tried to placate the older knight, "which was very odd. Wolves don't usually attack like that."

I was relieved that I was not the only one who noticed, "Any ideas as to what could have caused them to behave so strangely?"

The laughing knight shrugged, "I am clueless, which is probably no shock. All I can think is that perhaps they are a throwback from the same troubles we were having with the blight in the south. The animals would be diseased from being exposed to the darkspawn taint and become more aggressive, attacking travelers or anyone that approached them. Even though the darkspawn have been defeated, there may still be some left over animals in these isolated regions that haven't succumbed yet to the taint."

Ser Grey shook his head vehemently, "I've seen some of the animals which you are referring to. When they have been tainted, as you say, there are certain marks of the taint on them. These animals did not show any of the signs that I became familiar with in tainted animals. They also did not attack haphazardly as a frenzied animal might; they worked in chorus with each other. These were far more organized than a random wolf attack, as if they could analyze our movements as well as anticipate the movements of one another. It was like they could reason. Could they have been werewolves?"

"No, I have had some experience with werewolves," Sellose answered resolutely, "They were organized but still more erratic than these animals. Also, these wolves didn't appear to be large enough. Werewolf flanks are slightly more distended and they use their claws more readily than these wolves did. These wolves seemed like normal wolves in their appearance, it is their behavior that is in question."

"We cannot waste too much time wondering about the wolves. We need to see to Rian's injuries and get moving in case these wolves return. I'll gather some herbs and boil some water to cleanse the wounds." I cut in as I headed for the trees.

"Hold," Ser Grey barked, "you are not to walk anywhere in the woods alone while there is a chance you can be attacked by more of those wolves. I will remain with Ser Forthwind and start boiling some water. Ser Sellose, you will attend to the Bard and protect her."

"Well, your Majesty," I sighed to my assigned companion as we headed into the woods, "it looks like you will be helping me to collect the herbs."

"Would you have preferred Ser Grey's company?" he asked when we were out of earshot from the camp.

I shuddered slightly, "No offense intended, but I think I would rather deal with the wolves than place myself at Ser Lion's mercy."

"You are too hard on him." Sellose observed. "He is gruff, but he is also brave and an efficient warrior."

"Efficient?"

"Quite," he grinned, "he can berate you and disembowel an enemy simultaneously. If you should have your throat ripped out he will be sure to point out at least six ways you could have avoided the attack all together and outline what you did wrong before you actually expire so you don't die with that nagging question, `Why did this happen to me?' at the forefront of you mind in your final moments. He is truly a marvel."

I tried to remain serious, but it was quite difficult when being accompanied by his mirth. I smiled in spite of myself, "It is probably not appropriate for a subordinate knight to mock his commander."

"Probably not," he conceded a little more gravely, before clearing his throat, "while we are on the subject of mocking and subordinates…why do you insist on calling me, `your Majesty?'"

"Would you prefer `your Highness' instead?" I teased as I caught sight of one of the herbs I needed out of the corner of my eye. I bent over to gather it and Sellose watched me with a troubled expression.

"What?" I asked when I safely stowed the herb in a pouch on my hip, still expecting a joking reply or a smile. When I received none I groped my mask with exaggerated care, "Do I have something on my face? Oh… wait…found it."

I figured the reference to the mask would restart his questions about it. He had pointedly been avoiding the topic for the last couple of days and it made me regret how short I had been with him. He had no way of knowing what a sensitive topic it was and it was a reasonable question under the circumstances. Upon further reflection, part of me wished he would bring the topic up again after some time advanced if only to clear the air between us. However he didn't take the bait, he continued to look distressed and remained quiet while I moved on to the next herb.

After a few more awkward moments of silence he cleared his throat, "Actually I felt we should talk about something I had said earlier."

"No need," I reassured him, "I think I already know what you want to say. You have no need to apologize. To be honest, I should be apologizing to you."

"Really?" his eyebrows rose in startled relief, "I was worried you wouldn't understand."

I looked up at him reassuringly, "No, I understand. It was really unreasonable for me to respond to you the way I did. How could you know what my reaction would be?"

"Absolutely," he agreed, smiling again.

I took a breath before continuing, "So it is only fair that I answer your question."

"Question?" the smile faded around the edges ever so slightly.

"Yes," I nodded, "your question about my mask."

"Yes of course," he agreed with a smile plastered nervously across his face, though I could have sworn that his voice held a tone of disappointment, "but you don't really need to answer it. I completely understand if it is something personal that you do not wish to discuss. Everyone is entitled to their secrets. I know you must have your reasons and you owe me no explanations."

It was obvious that he was worried about upsetting me, I sighed "No, I think it is only fair. You've been patient and have always given me the benefit of the doubt. You are right to assume that I have secrets and I can't tell you everything, but I should be able to tell you something about the mask."

He pressed his lips together helplessly, as if he would argue but felt that he shouldn't. Looking down at my hands, I continued, "I'm scarred. I wear the mask hide it from prying eyes. Besides it makes people uncomfortable to see someone with a scarred face – they either stare or they avoid looking at you completely. With the mask people still might stare, but at least it is with curiosity instead of revulsion or pity. Since I'm a bard most people don't think twice about it. It allows me to both gather attention and be discreet. Sometimes a well placed mystery is better than a painful truth."

"I see," he said quietly to himself. Looking up at him again I saw his head inclined slightly studying me before continuing, "Since we are making confessions, it is only fair to tell you…"

"Hurry with those herbs," came a bellow through the trees, Ser Lion's roaring commands interrupting what Sellose had been trying to say.

For once it was the laughing knight who seemed short on patience as he cast an unfriendly look in the direction of the camp, swearing under his breath, "Damn the man."

"Let's go, your Majesty, or your commander will do more than roar. He might flay us alive and continue the journey alone."

"I would _love_ to see him attempt it," he muttered as he stalked back to the camp and I dutifully followed. I would have felt sorry for any wolf that might have tried to attack us at that moment, considering the dark mood of my companion. He could have gladly butchered anything that got in his way.

We returned and I got to work on Rian's injured thigh. He winced as I cleansed the wounds, but then I applied a salve from the herbs that I had collected and it dulled the pain. Sellose searched out a branch that could help support Rian while he walked. He used my dagger to carve down the top of a long, sturdy branch and tied a scrap of leather onto it so his arm could rest comfortably without splinters. Ser Grey, unable to contribute anything other than criticism, sat sullenly to one side while I completed my ministrations. It was well on midday before we were finished and able to head out.

It was difficult to travel. I tried to search out easier paths that Rian could travel with minimal jostling and pain, but the easier trails would mean a longer walk and our provisions would not last if we took too long. I explained this to both Sellose and Ser Lion, but it was Rian who insisted that we continue with the harder paths regardless of his discomfort. The longer we were in the forest, he argued, the more likely we were to be attacked again by either wolves or possible thieves and the loss of Rian's ability to repel such an attack put us at a further disadvantage. Our arguing over the possibilities made our slow walk even slower.

As night began to fall, we had difficulties finding a safe place to camp. We pressed on further into the darkness and our near imperceptible path became unreadable in the darkness. I could not read the markers clearly and groaned in frustration when it seemed like the path came to a dead end in a dense grove of birch trees. The eerie whiteness of their bark in the darkness made me feel apprehensive, but we could go no further. Surrounded by the pale limbs, we made camp for the night.

The shadows cast by our flickering campfire against the trees only compounded the eeriness and the wind caused the trees to creak while they swayed. Rian became slightly feverish during the night and I swabbed his brow gently as he moaned in his sleep. The fever broke somewhere near daylight, so I assumed the salves I made helped to sooth the infection. Bruna would have been so proud that her eager student had been able to apply her dearly taught knowledge.

Ser Lion and the laughing knight took turns scowling at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking, but they didn't argue. In one of the pauses between scowls Sellose looked at me and observed, "You don't know how to use a sword, do you?"

"I know not to hold the pointy end." I offered with a half-hearted smile.

"Well, that just won't do." He got up and offered me a hand up. He handed me Rian's sword and unsheathed his own, "Alright, lesson one, stances."

"What purpose will this serve?" Ser Lion asked skeptically.

"We lack Forthwind's sword arm," elucidated the laughing knight with a smile, "leaving us an extra sword and no one to wield it. If Svenya can learn some of the basic defensive techniques and stances, we will have less to worry about."

To this Ser Lion added bleakly under his breath, "Unless she loses her balance, swings wildly and accidently decapitates one of us."

"Good point, sir," Sellose enjoined, not sounding the least discouraged, he said a little more quietly for my ears alone, "Take note, Svenya, if we should find ourselves in battle again stand as close to our commanding officer as possible."

"If you recall Ser Grey's instructions earlier today to `keep a low guard,' he was talking about this stance," and Sellose bent his knees slightly, with his feet spread slightly apart with his right foot slightly forward and his sword angled downward. "Here, try it."

I did my best to copy and he walked around me examining what I was doing, "No, don't spread your feet too wide. The spread of your feet should help to balance you, making it harder to be knocked over, but if you keep them too far apart it does the exact opposite. Move your left foot in slightly. The sword arm should be extended slightly and braced by your left arm closer to your body. Bend the elbow a little more." He gently adjusted my arm. "That looks better."

I had to admit I felt a little more stable with the sword in this stance than I had this morning and my patient teacher nodded approvingly, "Ironically enough, that stance is referred to as the _Alber_ stance, or _the Fool_."

He taught me three more of the stances and had me practice transitioning between the stances as he called them out by name. The movements were awkward at first, but became more fluid as I practiced them. The sword was heavy, though, and I was unaccustomed to wielding it so my forearms and shoulders began to ache much like they had when the wolves had attacked us. "You must have muscles of iron to keep lifting these things during a battle," I mused.

"Not quite," Sellose chuckled, "but you can get stronger with practice and I have seen some women wield these better than a man. They tend to be far more graceful. Be aware, though, these are only defensive techniques. If you find yourself alone and facing opponents you can use these to buy time until help arrives."

"_If_ help arrives…" Ser Grey qualified.

I thoughtfully observed, "If given a choice, I would probably be better served to arm myself with a lute and put my opponents to sleep."

"That I would like to see," laughed Sellose.

"Well, I should practice then," I smiled as slid the sword back in its scabbard and pulled out my lute, absently tuning it. In a moment I was pleased with its sound and started to sing with the accompanying music:

"To bestow gifts upon their beloved,

I have seen men walk by the mile,

but the only man who could win my heart

would give me the gift of a smile.

Men can promise a woman the world,

as well as the ocean and the sky,

but I can only offer my heart

to one who can give me a quick reply.

Flowers can whither once they have been picked

and I have no desire to be tricked

by someone who merely wants a warm bed.

I lost my face, but have yet to lose my head.

A man searching a target to hit easily

should not attempt to end his search with me.

For all of my concealed visage

my favor is not easily bought.

Do not attempt to sway me with promises,

I will only accept an equal in mind and thought.

So men be wary in your glances,

when casting them in my direction.

The figure beneath is passable,

but is far outstripped by a hideous complexion.

My world is lonely, my life is stark,

but no man will catch me vulnerable in the dark.

Honest speech is far more pleasant company,

beyond this no man should require more from me.

Let other women give their favors in exchange for guile,

I can only offer the gift of a smile."

After the song was done I leaned against the nearest tree to sleep, but I went feeling a little more positive than I had in a while, "Goodnight gentlemen."

I was just barely dozing off when I thought I heard Ser Lion grumble at my laughing knight, "I still fail to see the purpose in arming a beggar. The best we can hope for is that she will stab one of us in the back when it suits her purpose."

"I trust her," was the firm reply, "I only hope that we don't prove to be far more dangerous to her than she is to us."

"You cannot compromise the mission, or your position for that matter, for the sake of protecting one woman," Ser Lion's voice grumpily chided, though the statement contained a note of imploring with it.

"If I had been a wiser man I would have given up an entire kingdom for the sake of one woman, but that is lost to me now. All I have left is the ability to perform small acts of kindness for a stranger."

"Acts of kindness or acts of stupidity?" the severe inquiry cut the air.

"If an act of kindness is stupidity, then I am proud to be numbered the second fool in this camp."

After this there was no more discussion, only slumber and the Veil.


	10. Interlude 3: Young Wife & Ptarmigan

**Interlude 3: the Young Wife and the Ptarmigan **

_**Avvarian Folktale**_

When battles over the small stretches of land in the Cauldron were still common, a man bid his wife good-bye, explaining that he had to join his war chief and his brothers or his honor would be forfeit. His wife, newly married and quite young, was greatly distressed by this pronouncement and would not allow him to leave with a soft word.

"You do not love me!" She accused him with a shrill, whining voice that put crows to shame, "How could you claim to love me if you would willingly leave me so soon after we have wed?"

Her husband shook his head, "My dearest, my little sparrow, it is because of the love I bear you that I can go off to battle willingly. My honor would have no meaning without my love for you. I promise to return in a fortnight. Now kiss me before I leave."

The woman refused to be pacified. She continued to plead, scold and threaten, calling after him until he was well down the road and almost beyond her sight. Her throat choked with tears and she finally fell dumb to the power of her grief.

That night the young wife cried herself to sleep. The next day she went to draw water at the well for her daily needs. As she approached the well, she became aware of floundering sounds in the water at the bottom. She leaned far over the edge and peered deep into the well but could see nothing because the bottom was dark and deep. She called into the darkness, "Is here someone there? Do you need help?"

"Yes, yes," a soft, choking voice pleaded frantically from the darkness, "please lower the bucket and pull me up."

Quickly lowering the bucket, the young wife answered the calling voice and steadily pulled the bucket back up when signaled by a distinctive tug on the rope. When the bucket finally crested the well, the young wife looked curiously in to see whom she had rescued. Floating in the water was an exhausted, snow white ptarmigan, its wings heavily soaked through. The woman gently scooped the bird out of the water so that it could dry its wings off.

The bird shook off the water and when its wings had finished drying, it flew from the young wife's hands and into a nearby birch tree before it hoarsely croaked, "Thank you, kind woman. You have spared me a watery death. I accidently hopped into the well while trying to escape a hawk that intended to make me its dinner."

"You are quite welcome little friend." The woman smiled and turned back to drawing water.

"Is there any way I might be able to help you in return?" the bird politely inquired.

The woman sighed, "Only if you can bring my husband back from battle. He has gone away to bolster his honor and has little concern for his love of me."

"I am sure that is not true," consoled the little bird.

"It is true," insisted the wife. "He left yesterday saying that it was because of his love for me that he had to defend his honor. If he truly loved me, he would _never_ leave me for battle."

"Tut, tut," reprimanded the bird, "you sound like you don't understand the balance of wings."

"Of what consequence are wings?" demanded the young wife hotly.

The little bird puffed out its chest and declared, "That you will discover tonight. Before you go to bed you must bathe yourself to purify your body. Comb and braid your hair into one chord. Eat and drink nothing except for water from this well. Kneel facing where the tallest mountain touches the sky on the horizon. Touch your chest, head and palms to the ground. Then pray to the Lady of the Sky to teach you the balance of wings." With those parting words, the little bird flew into the brush and disappeared from the bewildered young wife's view.

That night the young wife obediently followed the ptarmigan's instructions. She carefully swam and bathed in the mountain stream that flowed near her house. Afterwards she meticulously combed and braided her hair into a single chord. She drank only the well water and ate nothing. Finally she kneeled facing where the tallest mountain touched the sky on the horizon, bent over until her chest and head touched the soft spring grass and spread her palms flat against the earth. She prayed earnestly, "Lady of the Sky, hear my humble prayer. Teach me the balance of wings."

She waited expectantly for a long time, but nothing happened. She wondered if she had followed the bird's instructions correctly or if she had done something to offend the Lady of the Sky. Then it occurred to her that the little ptarmigan might have lied to her and she felt very sad at heart. She drew herself up and went to her sleeping pallet, once again crying herself to sleep.

However, that night the young wife dreamed. In her dream she had become a small sparrow with one bent wing that prevented her from flying. She fluttered helplessly near the ground and twittered sadly at her deformity and her inability to fly. While she was bemoaning her fate, she suddenly heard a gentle voice ask, "Why are you sad, little daughter?"

The young wife in sparrow form turned to see a beautiful black swan addressing her. She explained to the swan, "My wing is bent and I cannot fly. There is nothing sadder than a bird with a crippled wing."

"That may be so," conceded the swan, "but perhaps there is something I can do for you."

Before the young wife could respond, the swan picked her up with her beak and gently rested the sparrow wife on her soft black back. Without a word the large bird charged forward, beating her wings until the sparrow wife could feel them lift off the ground and soar into the air. Instead of fear, the sparrow wife was engulfed in a sense of wonder and peace. The strong wings stretched out on either side, making a musical rhythm as it beat and stroked in the wind. The misty sky around them was a soft lavender shade that one only sees at early twilight.

The sparrow wife felt safe and realized that the swan was the embodiment of the Lady of the Sky. She whispered gently against the black bird's soft neck, "Dear Lady of the Sky, as unworthy as I am, please teach me the balance of wings so that I will no longer lead a crippled life."

"You have realized the truth, little daughter," acknowledged the Lady. "For your insight I will share with you a secret that has the ability to shape the world, though some gods have been known to forget it. Even Korth, the Mountain Father once forgot it and the world was sorrier for it."

"I am listening," the sparrow wife said humbly.

"The balance of wings can only be achieved when there are two," explained the Lady of the Sky. "One wing is Love and the other wing is Honor. To live without one is crippling and the other withers from lack of use as a result. It is only with both that one can experience the fullness of the sky."

The sparrow wife trembled, feeling ashamed of how she treated her husband. "I swear to remember what you have taught me, benevolent Lady."

"See that you do," admonished the Lady. "Many forget and sacrifice one wing for the sake of the other. Such is the foolishness of both mortals and gods. Afterwards they try to fill their lacking with power and that never makes anyone truly happy."

With those words the young wife awoke on her pallet remembering everything from her dream. Her heart was light and she happily went about her chores, even singing while she worked. The fortnight passed as if only a few days and her husband returned home to find an entirely different woman waiting for him than the sullen scold he had left behind. She threw herself into his arms, kissed him and begged his forgiveness for how she behaved when he left.

From that day forward they lived together happily. The young wife kept her promise to the Lady of the Sky and taught the balance of wings to her children and her grandchildren. For as long as she lived, and even after she died, there was no woman for miles considered to be more loved or more honored than she. Thus the wisdom of the lesson never dies.


	11. Chapter 7: A Voice in the Grove

**Chapter 7: A Voice in the Grove**

_**Alistair**_

We wandered into a grove of birch trees during the night and had to camp or collapse. Birch trees seem to whisper more than other trees when they sway, like they are desperate to impart secrets to any who will listen. When you are sleeping in an entire grove of them, such whispers can seep into your dreams. After my turn at watch I listened to the trees until I drifted off to sleep.

Then I heard it: a voice was calling my name deeper within the grove. It wasn't a voice I recognized though it sounded familiar somehow. Looking around the fire I saw Ser Grey and Forthwind were sleeping soundly, but Svenya was not there. Where she had been sleeping she had left behind her bag, but I was worried when I saw her mask discarded on the ground. I quickly got up, walked over to where the mask lay and gently picked it up, noting that it felt strangely warm, as if it had only just been taken off. Examining it more closely I found that that one of the thongs had been snapped, as if someone had forcibly removed the mask from her face. Someone had forcibly taken her, but who could have done it without waking the rest of us?

The voice called again, but it was too distant and weak to tell if it was Svenya's voice or someone trying to lure me into the darkness beyond the campfire. I gripped the mask in one hand and my sword in the other, looking at Ser Grey and Forthwind, still asleep. Forthwind was injured and could not travel fast, plus Svenya observed that he had a fever earlier which made leaving him alone a bad idea. I debated waking Ser Grey, but his admonishment from earlier came back to me, _"You cannot compromise the mission, or your position for that matter, for the sake of protecting one woman." _He would argue to leave her to whatever had taken her. The longer I waited I enabled whoever had taken Svenya to get farther ahead.

"_Damn it,"_ fuming to myself, _"if Ser Grey isn't awake he can't stop me. She risked her life to save us from the mercenaries, why should I do any less for her, king or no?" _

Without another thought I walked cautiously into the grove towards the direction of the voice. If I used the darkness to my advantage and kept low perhaps I could sneak around them and rescue Svenya.

The voice continued to call and I continued to follow, moving with more certainty when my eyes began to adjust to the dark. The branches scratched my face, but I didn't care. I walked for a while and the sky seemed to become lighter, looking like gray heather on the hills surrounding Redcliffe and it wasn't such a struggle to see. It looked like dawn was coming, but I didn't think I had been walking that long.

The trees began to thin out and I found myself on the bank of a river, farther up the bank I saw three figures: two standing and one on the ground. That had to be them. With so little cover there was no way I could sneak around and surprise them, so I decided on the direct approach.

Rushing forward I confronted them; the two standing turned to face me while lowering their hoods and revealing that they were women. They did not appear threatening or angry, if anything their expressions held concern or pity, but that meant nothing. Things aren't always what they seem on the surface. I remained on my guard, sword raised, and demanded, "Let her go!"

"We hold no one captive, we merely guard one abandoned," explained the woman on the right, standing closer to the trees. Her white dress brushed the ground with its hem, her dark hair hung in loose tendrils around her face and her cloak was a mottled gray, as if it were wet in spots from rain.

"Then she will be able to get up and leave with me and you will not follow." I challenged, edging forward slowly to the figure on the ground while keeping my attention on them.

The other woman on my left, closer to the water, spoke up then. She was wearing a charcoal colored dress and a black cloak. She stated, "They are bound."

"You mean `_she_ is bound' and you will untie her." I enumerated angrily, jerking my head toward the figure on the ground.

"No," the darkly clad woman stated in a softly hissing whisper.

The other woman echoed, "No," though her whisper was more of a cross between a rasp and a croak.

"Why not?" I demanded, losing patience.

"No," the dark woman repeated, though added with a murmur, "`_They_ are bound,' for _they_ are two that make a one."

"No." The gray and white clad woman muttered her explanation, "We cannot untie knots we have not made."

Now_ we_ were talking in riddles. _Lovely!_ These had to be witches. All I needed now was for them to turn into a pair of dragons like Flemeth and I would be nice and crispy.

I sighed and tried to reason with them, "Then will you allow _me _to untie this person and take _them_ with me."

"It is not our place to hinder here, only to help," the woman in gray informed me.

"This is not the one you thought you sought," dictated the other, "but it is the one you needed to find."

I shook my head to clear some of the soft fuzziness that was beginning to crowd and jumble my thoughts. The anger and rage were abating, leaving only vague confusion in their wake. It was as though I was trying to remember something that I was having difficulty recalling. For a moment I stopped to look at the figure on the ground that was covered by what I thought was Svenya's old homespun cloak. The person's size was too large and bulky to actually be her. Great, I was playing word games with two witches over the body of a complete stranger. This had to be some kind of trick.

"Then, if this is not Svenya," I inquired slowly, still holding the sword that was starting to feel heavy and useless, "who is this?"

"The one you left behind," intoned the woman in black, as if she were stating something obvious.

_The one I left behind? _I puzzled. _Is__ she referring to Forthwind or Ser Grey who I left back at the camp? Did someone bring one of them here and tie them up?_

"You were lost," the other woman took her turn speaking, "and you found your way back here."

"Back here?" I sputtered, "But I've never been here before! We got lost in the woods trying to find the path in the dark and Svenya led us to _this_ grove."

"True, you were led here," the black one soothed, "you found a place where the boundary is thin and returned to where you had been."

_Boundary?_ Things were in floating pieces in my head, but the word seemed to trigger something, "Is this the Fade?"

"Yes," was the gray clad woman's affirmation, "you have returned to the border you cannot cross. It is not your time. You have been here before and abandoned the one to keep the other," nodding to the figure on the ground.

"You sought one with a mask, but carried your own," the other woman was backing towards the water.

"If this is the Fade then you must be demons!" I raised my guard again. I presumed that I had fallen asleep and was being held by sloth demons who were trying to use me to cross over to my world. Thinking back to my Templar training, I readied a countermeasure to any spells they could devise and demanded, "Release me!"

"We do not hold you," the right one murmured as she brought the hood of her gray cloak back up to conceal her face. "Your only prison is one you have fashioned."

"We do not bind you," muttered the other, making a mirroring motion with the black cloak she was wearing. "We cannot free you."

I roared with frustration, "Where is Svenya?"

"She is in another place beyond the Veil, safe for now," the gray woman answered as she too backed away, though she moved towards the trees, "But blood must be paid, a choice must be made: will it be the mask or the scars? We cannot say!"

"You have your choices, she has hers," the woman in black was almost at the water's edge now, "though cut from similar cloth, you were woven on different looms. How you stitch your lives together is entirely up to you."

"Where you go from here, fractured king, is your own path to find: follow Honor, follow Love or follow the imperceptible path between," the gray woman was almost overshadowed by the forest.

Then the women transformed simultaneously, melting into new forms seamlessly. The woman stepping into the water became a black swan and glided away into the mist on the river. The other woman at the edge of the tree line turned into a moderate sized white and gray dappled bird and hopped away into the brush of the birch grove. Confused and not knowing which way to turn or what to follow, I yelled, "Hey!"

Alone, except for the figure bound on the ground, I carefully made my way toward it. The bird women had said it was the _"one I left behind"_ but I still didn't trust it. All I would have to do is pull back the cloak and some terrifying demon or monster would lunge at me. I just knew it.

When I got close enough I used the tip of the sword to pull it back quickly so that I could stick whatever jumped up at me, but I was to be disappointed. No foul fiends went for my throat.

Underneath the cloak was a man in armor with his hands and feet bound and his back to me. I thrust my sword into the ground to make it easier to grab the hilt if the need arose and began to untie the man, but I felt more at ease. It had to be Forthwind. He had a fever and sometimes fevers bring strange dreams. Who is to say that he didn't just wander into the Fade in the throes of such a dream?

"I'm sorry I left you behind," I apologized, crouching next to him.

"Just help me get this helmet off," the man groaned, "I feel like I'm suffocating in here. Didn't you hear me calling?"

That made me start and object, "But you couldn't have called, Forthwind. You were in the camp when I heard the voice calling to me."

Feeling suspicious, I started to make a reach for the sword just as the man pulled off the helmet and turned to me with an air of amused annoyance. My mouth gaped open, but no sound came out and I scrabbled backwards like a crab, desperate to put some distance between us. The man sitting near me looked exactly like me, as if I were looking into a mirror. Seeing my horror, my double chuckled, "Did you miss me?"

I screamed. I screamed in a tone only reserved for milkmaids who find carefully placed frogs in their buckets. Springing to my feet, grabbing my sword, I turned to face my doppelganger only to stand there blinking in confusion, once again. The man in armor was gone, the river was gone and I was back in the camp threatening the campfire with my sword outstretched.

I had awoken Ser Grey, who was struggling to his feet and unsheathing his sword, thinking that we were under attack again. Svenya awoke and, perceiving no cause for alarm, peered at me from across the fire and rubbed her eyes. Forthwind was groaning. He had tried to get up too fast in the commotion, aggravating his injured leg, so Svenya crawled to him, eased him back against a tree and examined his wounds.

"What in bloody blazes is wrong with you?" griped Ser Grey, collapsing back to the ground after scanning the woods and finding us alone.

"Nightmare?" I wavered, still not entirely sure I was awake. I kept standing there, not ready to lower my guard, thinking things could change at any moment.

Ser Grey groaned and grumbled to himself as he lay back down and tried vainly to return to sleep. Forthwind joined him in this endeavor, leaving Svenya awake and watching me. After a few more moments of me standing there she eased herself to her feet and approached gingerly, as if she were afraid of spooking me. I watched her come closer, considered pointing my sword at her, but thought better of it, opting to remain still.

On seeing me watch her, she smiled reassuringly and came to my side. When she reached me her eyes took on a mischievous twinkle before adopting a manner of mock examination. She circled me a moment and used her foot to nudge my left leg back. Then she instructed, "Lift your left elbow a little." To this I complied, confused but calm.

Then she placed her hand on my forearm, gently but firmly lowering the sword ever so slightly and ventured; "Now you are in a perfect _Alber_ stance, or am I mistaken?"

Exhaling the breath I hadn't been aware of holding, I considered her pronouncement a moment before responding, "No, I believe you are correct. I look like a _Fool_."

The floodgates opened then and we began to laugh until we dropped to the ground and the tears rolled.

"Since the two of you _fools_ have decided that you have gotten enough sleep, we can break camp. The sun is starting to rise anyway," Ser Grey rumbled with irritation sharpening each syllable. He sat back up and began to gather his gear.

The dregs of our laughter receded into light chuckling as we complied with Ser Grey's command. Svenya changed Forthwind's bandages and we lifted him back to his feet as he became more awake. I scraped together a sparse breakfast for the others and chewed my own thoughtfully.

The dream was becoming a foggy memory. As I tried to repack our provisions, I tried to review the night's meanderings, but some of the details ebbed or became unfocussed. I couldn't recall the faces of the two women or much of the conversation. There were scraps of phrases that I could vaguely grasp if I concentrated hard enough.

"_You have been here before and abandoned the one to keep the other."_

"…_follow Honor, follow Love or follow the imperceptible path between…"_

"… _How you stitch your lives together is entirely up to you." _

"_But blood must be paid, a choice must be made: will it be the mask or the scars?"_

"Well, your Majesty," observed Svenya, as if reading my mind, "That must have been a hideous nightmare to cause you to scream like a woman."

"My dear, a man _never_ screams," I specified, "if anything I howled or shouted."

She looked thoughtful for a moment before insisting, "No, no, I'm pretty sure that was a scream."

"Perhaps you heard a screech owl in the words and thought it was me," I quibbled.

She glared at me wryly, "Perhaps you are not a king, after all; perhaps you are a princess?"

I quickly stuck my tongue out at her before taking a swig from the water skin with a conspicuously extended pinky. This action caught her unaware between bites and she snorted with surprise before nearly choking on her breakfast. This prompted Ser Grey to start smacking her on the back to dislodge what had gotten stuck in her windpipe. When she recovered, Svenya tried vainly to regain her composure but failed any time she cast a glance in my direction.

Forthwind joined in the fun, urging in mock seriousness, "Now ladies, behave with proper decorum," before Ser Grey bestowed a sour look that could curdle a whole cow and Forthwind bit back his chuckle.

"Bloody Hell!" sputtered Ser Grey, "What has gotten into you lot?"

Not having a feasible answer, Svenya offered, "I will go and try to find another marker," getting to her feet and walking away from the camp with her shoulders still shaking gently.

When Ser Grey was sure she was out of ear shot he turned toward me and pointed, "Your _Majesty_, I suggest you follow her so that nothing unfortunate befalls her."

"Ser Grey," I mused, "I didn't know you cared."

Ser Grey raised his eyebrow and I felt that I had gone far enough. Getting to my feet, picking up my sword and trotting after Svenya I reassured, "Your wish is my command, sir."

"And Arl Eamon was worried he had become too _morose_?" I heard Ser Grey wonder somewhere behind me.

I couldn't account for it either, but I had to acknowledge that I was starting to feel lighter. Catching sight of Svenya carefully examining a tree and looking puzzled, I slowed my pace and stopped a few feet away to avoid startling her.

She seemed to sense my presence because without turning to look at me she marveled, "This is interesting."

"What?" I inquired, moving to stand beside her and get a better view of what she was scrutinizing. Carved into the tree were a series of markings. My guess was that it was Avvarian runes, but I couldn't be sure. The Chasind people to the south would make standing stones or rock markers and carve runes in them, but I hadn't seen them mark trees. I presumed it was because tree markers would be unreliable because, over time, the tree healed over them. That meant these runes were inscribed recently.

I asked, "Is it a warning of some kind?"

"Not exactly," Svenya allowed, "it seems to be a sign put here by another traveler. I think it says, `Lady Ptarmigan Wood.' It may be the name of the grove, but I'm not sure. I'm not adept at reading runic."

"What's a ptarmigan?"

"It's a type of bird, white and gray colored, about the size of a small chicken. More than likely a large number roost here because they eat birch buds and things that they find in groves like this." She explained, illustrating the relative size of the bird with a motion of her hands.

I thought of the gray and white clad lady in my dream. Was it a coincidence? I couldn't resist, "Are these birds special?"

"Sort of," Svenya recalled, "Bruna told me a story once where a ptarmigan found the heart of Korth, the Mountain Father, a god that the Avvarian people worshipped. He bound and imprisoned his heart in the mountains. I am having trouble remembering some of the finer details of the story since it has been a while, but the bird rolled it out of its hiding place because it was too heavy to lift. Once out in the open, the heart called to Korth, longing to return where it belonged. When Korth drew near the heart leapt back into his chest."

My own heart leapt slightly and I muttered, "That sounds a little too easy."

"It _is_ just a story, but you're right. Another god had to use iron and ice to secure it," she offered, "maybe it had problems fitting again because the god had grown without it? Either that, or the heart grew without the god?"

I just nodded, very aware of a fluttering in my chest, as something was struggling inside me. For a long time I had felt empty or confused. At that moment something felt different. I felt the urge to laugh and cry and run shrieking into the woods, waving my arms. I didn't dare do any of those things, for fear Ser Grey would assume I had gone mad, but the impulses were still there.

"That reminds me of something else that Bruna had taught me about birch trees," Svenya pointed at me, suddenly becoming excited. She then started back toward the camp. It took me a moment to follow because I felt distracted, but managed to catch up.

She went right to her pack and pulled out more linen strips that she had been using to dress Forthwind's injuries. Taking out her dagger, she made shallow cuts just below the bark of one of the birch trees and collected the seeping water into the cloth strips. She applied what she had collected to Forthwind's leg and it soothed some of the pain, making it easier for him to move.

Ser Grey approved, grudgingly, "That was useful. Try to think of it sooner next time."

With Forthwind moving more easily, we were able to retrace some of our path from the night before and find the trail that we had lost in the darkness.

As we walked, I was watchful and kept Svenya always in sight. The fragments of the dream that I was able to recall haunted me: _"But blood must be paid, a choice must be made: will it be the mask or the scars?"_

A new feeling resurfaced, helplessness. Something was coming and the foreboding in my gut communicated that it would be something beyond my ability to control.

"Why frown, your Majesty?" Svenya teased me from farther up the path, urging me forward, "More nightmares?"

I smiled ruefully, "No new ones, only old ones."

"That will not do!" She exclaimed, "You have a face not made for frowning. Though your nose is crooked, you need not bend it so out of shape. Shame on you! What did your nose ever do to offend you?"

"You have obviously not taken a deep breath near me lately. Your nose would be offended too. I desperately need a bath." I moaned playfully.

"Here, here!" piped up Forthwind with a grin, "I'll vouch for that!"

"Oh, the loyalty!" I griped, but couldn't help smiling.

Forthwind defended his statement with a counterfeit wounded look, "You spoke the truth, sir. I felt it would be dishonest to disagree."

"Next time I recommend that you lie!" I replied, "Remember where you sleep!"

"Any time we are in danger of forgetting we can take a deep breath and we'll know." Svenya offered back.

My heart skipped giddily again as I shook a vengeful fist in her direction, imitating Ser Grey's disapproving scowl. Grey had accepted that scolding us was futile and opted to ignore us instead.

The day's journey seemed light and easy compared to the care worn previous day. I was able to assist Forthwind over the rougher patches of ground and he winced less at the rocks. Svenya tried to regale us with light stories of a cocky rooster being flattered by a fox and we chuckled to ourselves over the ludicrous images the stories created.

That night we stopped at a copse of fir trees. When I lay down to sleep I noted the difference between the sway of the fir trees from the whisper of the birches the night before. There were no calls that night or women transforming into birds, just a peaceful oblivion of a dreamless sleep. Sometimes the Maker offered us small mercies.


	12. Chapter 8: The Lion and the Ox

**Chapter 8: The Lion and the Ox**

_**Svenya**_

Two days after our encounter with the wolves, the paths leading to Herfirien became rockier and steeper. Though Rian was healing, it was still difficult for him to travel. Sellose and Ser Lion took turns assisting him on the rougher terrain, but it slowed our progress greatly and I suspect that it hurt Rian's pride to have to rely on them constantly. It was easy to see how highly he esteemed them both and he desperately wanted to gain their approval. Perhaps he feared that they would think less of him for his weakness. He never complained but I noticed that his jaw would look tight when they offered, knowing that he needed the help but not wanting to admit it.

When I read excessive tension in him, I would ask him questions about Denerim. I had never been to the capital city myself and it offered a distraction from his injured leg. He would smile and become boyishly animated, "Svenya you should see the market. There are people from all over Ferelden hawking their wares. There is one girl, Liselle, who came from Orlais. She sells flowers and oils that smell amazing."

"Why would you need flowers or oils?" I asked.

"One of the other knights had recommended that I get some oil to rub into my arm," he explained, leaning in slightly conspiratorially for a minute, "I had been training with a particularly exacting instructor in order to improve my swordsmanship. I happened across her stall. She was very helpful and friendly. The oil smelled wonderful, it reminded me of my mother's garden and I would take it out whenever I felt homesick. I used it sparingly so that it would last."

"Were you sweet on her?"

Rian chuckled, "Oh no. Even if I were at one point, her brother would watch me with a less than friendly look on his face. Besides, though she was always polite, I don't think she was impressed with me."

"What else is there?" I asked, trying to picture the city in my mind.

"Well, there is the Chantry and the Birth Rock in the Palace District."

"Birth Rock?"

He nodded, "Yes, the Birth Rock is the monument they erected to Andraste. Many pilgrims who come to the city simply kneel and pray near it. Once a year he Chantry of Denerim holds a special celebration in honor of the calling of Andraste to be the bride of the Maker. They call it the Day of Invocation. Sisters will gather and place bundles of Andraste's Grace around the rock and hold vigil over them, with chanters taking turns intoning the Chant of Light. They are like bees solemnly humming and hovering over these flowers."

"What he is failing to mention is the fact that the smell of the flowers is overpowering in such a large gathering," Ser Sellose piped up, with a wry tone, "They have Templar initiates stand sentinel with the chanters so that there are no riots among the faithful. It is decided by lot. I got chosen two years in a row and had to stand there from sunrise to sundown. By midday you are so dizzy from standing at attention so close to the flowers and the overpowering fragrance that you can start to hallucinate. I don't know how I survived it."

"Strange," I mused, "you were chosen two years in a row by lot? What are the odds?"

"Pretty good when you consider the older initiates used loaded dice," Sellose quipped, "I grew wiser after the second year and the older initiates had moved into the ranks of the full fledged Templars."

My eyebrow skewed slightly at that, "Slightly irreverent for Templars."

"Hey, we were initiates," defended Sellose, "there is time enough to be pious when you are full Templars."

"_Pious Templars, my ass," _I thought to myself when a sudden question occurred to me, "Why didn't you become a full Templar if you were trained as an initiate?"

There was a sudden intake of breath, as if Sellose realized he has said too much and it was too late to take it back, "It is too long and complicated a story to get into, and I wouldn't wish to bore you. Anyway Forthwind hasn't told you what happens to the Andraste's Grace after the day is over."

I doubted the truth of his words, but I allowed him to change the subject and returned my attention to Rian, making a mental note to corner Sellose and get the truth at some later time, "What happens after the day is over?"

"Well," Rian continued, "after sundown the Sisters gather the Andraste's Grace again and bring it into the Chantry. They then dry out the flowers and gather them into little sachets that holy ladies purchase and carry with them. When they are around unpleasant smells in the marketplace you can sometimes see them sniffing the sachets. My mother had one that she kept in a trunk with special linens."

"I wouldn't mind having one myself," I grinned, "I could have it with me when I perform in certain taverns. It would certainly be helpful."

"After our mission is complete, I will purchase one for you, Svenya," Rian promised.

I shook my head, "That isn't necessary. It is just one more thing to carry and lose. I can withstand fowl odors. I am no pampered lady to be felled by stench. I would have succumbed long ago if that were the case."

"Just the same," Rian shrugged, "I will purchase you one of the sachets so that you can remember me."

"I would not require a sachet to remember you, my dear Red Knight." I smiled.

Rian laughed again, as he usually did when I addressed him this way and asked thoughtfully, "Why do you always refer to me as `Red Knight?'"

"You mean, aside from your hair?" I asked, "There is a legend of a Red Knight in these parts. It is closely associated with a local plant. I'll tell you later though. Ser Lion is looking at me fiercely beneath cloudy brows."

Ser Lion had been listening silently this entire time as we struggled up the road. "Woman, you will be the death of me! Sometimes I think that you have purposely chosen the longer route so that you will have a captive audience."

This was a derision I had grown accustomed to over the journey. Ser Lion growled a great deal but it is hard to despise a cat without teeth. Deep down, I was developing affection for the man. It also came to my attention that he readily assigned either my red knight or the ersatz king to chaperone me for fear that I would come to harm. Perhaps it is vanity on my part, but I chose to believe that Ser Lion had come to feel a grudging fondness for me as well.

He was huffing at the bottom of a particularly steep rise and looked up at me with a severe glower. I looked down at him plainly and shrugged, "And how would that serve me, Ser Lion? A captive audience still does me no good if I am not paid for my services. I could just as easily accuse you of walking slowly because you will miss my company when I am gone."

"Grrrrrr," he ground out between clenched teeth and trudged up the rise and choked back any further complaints.

"If it is any comfort," I assured him, "You will be free of me the day after tomorrow. By then we should be close enough to Herfirien that you will no longer require my guidance. We will be passing close enough to a small village this evening that you will be able to buy some more supplies. We have been making excellent progress, all things considered."

"Thank the Maker," Sellose cheered.

Rian looked slightly troubled at this news, "Where will you go after we have reached Herfirien?"

"I have old business to attend to." I jabbered vaguely, not wanting to get into detail, "After that I will go where the wind blows me."

Rian offered, "Perhaps you should travel with us back to Denerim? You had said you had bad dealings here with a local teyrn here, correct? Once you get your business done you can leave promptly with us. We should have horses by then and it would probably be a much quicker trip back, not to mention safer."

I stopped short and looked at him a moment. He was in earnest. It had not occurred to me that he might become attached to me in so short a period of time. What was even more startling was the realization that I had become so attached to the three of them and had learned to rely on them. For a moment I gave the offer serious consideration. Once I had done what I had come to do there was really nothing left to hold me here that wasn't tainted by pain. Perhaps I could convince Murchad to come with me, or even Bruna if she would be willing to make the trip. We could work within the court, Bruna would surely find someone who would hire her to cook and I could perform or seek sponsorship from a noble. Murchad always had a beautiful hand for writing and could work as a scribe or a clerk for a noble man. Anything was better than…

"No," bellowed Ser Lion, "I have had enough. I refuse to travel in the Bard's company back to Redcliffe. Stop flirting with the woman, Ser Forthwind. She will become too conceited to see what she is about."

Rian's ears became red and his jaw became tight again. He looked at me grimly and I shrugged back, "Do no be distressed, my Red Knight. My business will probably be anything but prompt compared to yours. I have more suitable plans. Be at ease." The last was more for me than for him as my little dream castles evaporated like fog. Ser Lion was right. It was better to make a clean cut from them rather than indebt myself to them or embroil them in my problems if it could be avoided.

"Besides" I added more lightly after a pause, "from what I have experienced, travelling with you three knights has been anything but _safe_. Travelling alone I draw far less attention, especially if you acquire more armor along with the new horses. _Clatter, jingle, clatter, jingle_, with every step."

"Wolves are also unable to bite through it," observed Ser Lion as he passed me and began to walk ahead, up the path that was starting to level out again.

"True," I conceded, "but with a well placed blade you can still be hobbled or wounded."

"Not if you know how to defend yourself properly!" he spat back over his shoulder.

He was anxious. He was sensitive about the fact that he had lost his armor. Maybe it made him feel less like a knight. In the last five years I had grown accustomed to not knowing what the day would bring, but he was a strategist without a strategy, a way to foresee the outcome of his journey. I could forgive the surliness when considering he was like a naked turtle, vulnerable to a world that he was unaccustomed to. We couldn't continue like this, so I did the only thing that seemed logical to me, I sat down.

"Um," Ser Sellose halted beside me and looked down at me with a comical expression, a combination of confusion and despair, "Svenya, this might not be the best moment to rest."

"I believe this moment is apt for a Bard who has been walking for a long time, up hill. My legs are sufficiently stretched, but my arms have cramped from lack of use." I alleged, to which Ser Lion spun around from where he was walking five yards ahead to discover that the rest of us has stopped short.

He stalked back to us with heavy tread and hissed with exasperation, "You said we could reach the village by this evening if we continued forward at this rate. You are slowing us down."

"You said if one knew how to defend themselves properly then they could not be wounded. Since I am to be robbed of the _safety_ of your presence on reaching our destination and, as I have observed, I have not been paid for my services I will exact payment now. Ser Sellose has been kind enough to provide me with tutoring in use of the blade, but both Sellose and Forthwind have extolled you as a superior teacher of the art of fighting. You will give me a lesson to strengthen my defensive skills."

"Now?" Ser Lion roared indignantly.

Sellose stepped closer to me, "It might be wiser to wait until this evening once we have reached our destination and rested."

"Ser Lion does not expect me to be wise," I chided him, "and I intend to live up to all of his expectations, provided he is willing to live up to all of mine."

"Fine," croaked Ser Lion, "get out Forthwind's sword. We will have one, short lesson. When you yield we will continue on the road with no further interruptions, I trust?"

I conceded, "Of course. I would not dream of extending this agony if it were unimportant."

"Hmph!" he grumbled as he stalked from the road in search of a clearing suitable enough for us to spar.

Sellose helped me to my feet, beseeching, "Reconsider! He is a master and you will be on the ground in a matter of moments. In this mood he will not teach you, he will more likely kill you."

"Do not think so little of him. He is far more controlled than you give him credit for and he knows full well that if he kills me that all three of you will be wandering in the woods. He also isn't likely to hobble me either because then he would have to carry me on his back in order to reach his destination and that would slow him down further."

Sellose scratched the back of his neck nervously. Rian, however, agreed: "He will not harm her. He is more of a knight than that. He would sooner die."

"Are you coming or have you changed your mind," remonstrated an impatient voice from beyond a group of trees.

"I come, Ser Lion, I come," I responded humbly and began to walk toward him, Rian and Sellose at my heels. We entered a small clearing, just wide enough for the two of us to move unimpeded, but it required Rian and Sellose to remain under the cover of the trees. Ser Grey swung viciously through the air once or twice, causing a slight whistle with each swipe.

"I hope you know what you are doing," Sellose ventured with a sing-song lilt in his voice.

"_So do I_." I wavered slightly under my breath. It was hard to admit to myself, but I wanted this man's respect, much like Rian did. He was strong, but he did not revel in injuring others. I had known men who thrived on drawing blood and inflicting pain. He had a quiet strength, a power that quietly withstood the physical injuries he had suffered, but I feared that his trust would never recover from the outrage of the betrayal by a comrade. I trusted him not to hurt me, just as Sellose had professed to trust me that night as I fell asleep. It was something that defied explanation, but I needed to do something for him. He needed to address the anger that was slowly eating at him and surfaced at random moments. This bout was intended to be an exorcism of sorts, if only to ease the tension from the rest of our trip.

"Where do you want me, Ser Lion?" I asked meekly, feeling far less sure than I had that this was the right plan of action.

To that, Sellose quipped, "I got the impression that he didn't want you. Hasn't that been the point of most of his ire?"

"Stand there and just pick something," Ser Grey huffed, using his sword to point to a space opposite him.

I decided on the Ochs stance, since that was my weakest stance. The sword was so heavy for me that it made holding it above eye level very difficult. Sellose had compared it to aiming down the tiller of a cross bow at your opponent's neck. It would be difficult to stay like this for long, but if I wanted to improve I had to start here.

Grey studied my choice of stance a moment before driving forward and crashing down on my blade with his own like a hammer, causing me to stagger back slightly, but I held the stance. He came at me again, his arm again bringing his own blade down with punishing force that made my muscles feel like jelly, but I refused to drop the stance. Another blow like that could break my thumb where it held the underside of the grip. When he moved to strike a third time I brought my blade up, meeting his, breaking some of the momentum of the swing. He stepped back a moment, without lowering the sword and looked me in the eyes.

It occurred to me that he had never looked me in the eyes before now. Why did it suddenly cause him to pause?

"You insult me by choosing your weakest stance!" he accused.

"What other stance should I choose?" I asked, not blinking or looking away, "If I want to get stronger I have to go with the weaker stance. You are my teacher, so teach." To emphasize my point I skipped forward a step, threatening him with the blade, which caused him to step back to avoid being nicked.

He recovered quickly and fumed, "Choose a lower stance, Woman!"

"Never!" my voice was resolute.

This time his swing angled upward, causing my wrist to snap back with the force and my fingers felt like they would lose hold, but I recovered my grip before the sword could fly from my hand and he growled through clenched teeth, "Choose a lower stance! It would be too easy to injure you at your weaker stance."

"Do you usually quibble with your opponents over poor choice of stance or do you fight?" I demanded, "It is what it is! Your comrade was not worried about your stance when he knocked you on your back."

With that he rushed forward, forcing me to divert the point of my blade quickly or risk impaling him accidently. He had his blade lowered to the side, ramming into me with his shoulder striking my chest instead, causing me to fall. I clambered back as soon as I hit the ground and returned to my feet, repositioning to my original stance.

"For the mercy of the Maker, choose a lower stance!" he shouted, though the tone seemed less severe.

"Meet me where I am rather than where you want me to be!" I shouted back, stubbornly maintaining my chosen stance, though I was paying the price. Another blow like the last and I wouldn't be able to get off the ground again. I could feel the bruises blossoming under my skin and my muscles searing with pain.

"A high stance is unstable even for a strong armed fighter," explained Ser Lion, calmly slightly with each word, as if reasoning with a stubborn child. He began to move to his left and I edged to the right in response, trying to maintain the stance solidly as I moved and keep my blade pointing towards his head, "but for a woman with far less upper arm strength, it is suicide to maintain. Your upper arms will start to burn inside if you hold it too long, weakening your entire grip."

It occurred to me that he had decided to forgo attacking and allow the weakness in my arms to build up so that I would drop the stance without him having to swing. I rushed him, swinging down diagonally with my momentum from my high stance. He looked startled but deflected the blow with ease.

"So I won't hold the stance indefinitely." I answered, "A person would clear the fire out of their arm muscles with a well timed swing at regular intervals. It doesn't mean avoid the stance altogether."

With that he pushed forward, executing a series of parrying blows that I would not have thought possible with a long sword. It was elegant and hard for me to keep up with my clumsy beginner's stances. He forced me back again and again as I defended, unable to swing to make a blow myself. Before I knew it I was up against one of the trees that had been surrounding the clearing. He had the blade against my throat before I struck it away and took up the stance again, stubbornly refusing to lower it.

I'm not sure he realized it, but he was mirroring me with a matching Ochs stance, watching me beyond the point of his blade, measuring me with his steely gaze. I could feel my muscles tense, waiting for a blow or another rush forward.

As if coming to a conclusion, he nodded and sighed, lowering his sword, "I yield."

"What?" I choked with disbelief.

"I yield." He repeated, sheathing his sword, "I refuse to play this game. This wasn't about a lesson on defensive stances."

"Is that so?" I asked, refusing to drop my guard.

He looked at me, not with the same withering gaze that I had grown accustomed to, but with a softer look that was difficult to interpret, "If you should eventually find me worthy, ask to spar with me again. I will teach you to be a stronger fighter so that you can defend yourself from any foe. If that should fail, it would be my honor to defend you with my life."

Those words staggered me far more than any blow could have. I lowered the sword, afraid I would drop it. He turned and walked towards where Rian and Sellose were standing, with the same disbelief that I felt showing plainly on their faces. He barked at them, "Stop standing there and head back to the path. We are going to reach that village before nightfall as the Lady promised us."

Sellose looked at me, as if looking for some clue behind Ser Grey's change of heart, but I could not fathom it myself. I crept forward slowly, trailing behind Ser Lion who was resolute in his stride. We returned to the trail quickly and continued on our route, with the older knight in the lead. The rest of us followed mutely until Ser Lion stopped and turned to us, asking me, "I haven't started leading us in the wrong direction, have I?"

"No," I assured him, "you have been following the path truly. I would tell you if you strayed."

He nodded, "I know you would. It was foolish to ask."

"Are you alright?" asked Sellose.

"No," Grey spat, "but I refuse to lie down and die. I will complete my charge. I will do what I swore to do. I will be the lion that you so readily christened me." He looked at me with that and turned back to the path, "Now, lead on, Lady. Ser Sellose, if you will agree, you will be rear guard and I will see to Ser Forthwind."

We took up point as Ser Lion instructed, confused but unable to argue. It was only a matter of hours before we reached the small village, well before dusk. The market was beginning to close, but we managed to haggle for some produce to eat. The smith looked at us a little warily when we asked him to sharpen the knights' swords since they travelled without armor. He probably thought they were some kind of mercenaries passing through, but he didn't ask questions.

We found a safe place to camp just outside of the village, near a river that ran down from the surrounding mountains and provided the villagers with fish to supplement their diets. It wouldn't be long before there would be snow and it would freeze. The villagers had created drying huts near the river to help them to preserve the fish for winter storage. Walking by some of the houses in town, I could smell the brine from women pickling fish much like Bruna used to when I was a child. It seemed so familiar and was so far from where I was now.

As we settled down with the sunset, I could feel my muscles rebelling. I shifted stiffly every so often, stretching my legs out in front of me as I rested against a tree. Though he said nothing in regards to it, I got the impression that Ser Grey observed me with a smug sense of satisfaction, feeling slightly vindicated by my discomfort. It was Rian who ended up alluding it, "I wish I had some of Liselle's oils. I would offer you some. You look so pained."

"I'm sorry. I had hoped to disguise it as well as a knight would," I replied with chagrin.

Sellose chuckled sagely with that, "We rarely suffer in complete silence, my dear. You will have to keep stretching during the evening to avoid the inevitable kinks tomorrow."

I groaned and Ser Lion piped up, "Pain doesn't last. It is a knight's ability to continue on through the pain that illustrates their strength. You will hurt for a day or so, but it will pass. By experiencing pain you learn what never to do again."

"Fine," I acquiesced, "I have learned to never challenge you to spar, Ser Lion, just to prove a point."

Sellose nodded, "You have learned well. See that you never forget. He might not go as easy on you again."

"I doubt that would ever stop her," muttered Ser Grey, "stubborn ox that she is."

"It suits her well. It has probably served her even more so than being some fainting flower." Sellose insisted and Rian nodded agreement.

Ser Lion, regaining some of his previous moroseness, chided grimly, "Being stubborn can also get men killed. I would know." This last was added more softly and I was not entirely sure it had been said at all.

It occurred to me that I had behaved unfairly towards Ser Grey. Who was I to manipulate him to face something in the recent past when I couldn't fully deal with a past that haunted my own dreams? I pulled out my lute and strummed absently, escaping into my music and my stories.


	13. Interlude 4: The Bittersweet Red Knight

_**Interlude 4: The Bittersweet Red Knight**_

_**Folktale**_

_Once there was a mighty teyrn who had come from a long line of proud and powerful teyrns. This line stretched back to the beginning of the land and their family crest was a large oak tree with lush leaves. The youngest of the line was far crueler than his forefathers and felt that all the power he inherited was owed him by right of birth. He did not protect his people, but preyed upon them to fulfill his selfish desires._

_Eventually he developed a disagreement with a neighboring Arldom of Elynas and had to find a way to defeat his enemy. His personal soldiers went out into the land and recruited every knight they could find for a special quest that would enable him to overthrow the arl without raising an army and going to war, including a man named Letholdus._

_Letholdus was a knight who was brave as well as gentle. He honored his word and never broke a promise. He was the seventh son of a strong freeholder, but had no hope of inheriting his father's lands. To prevent a power struggle he left his family and became a knight in pursuit of his fortune. His tunic was scarlet trimmed with golden floss that his mother had embroidered for him before he left his home._

_When Letholdus was recruited by the teyrn's men, he had been told that the Arl of Elynas had committed horrible acts against the people and had broken a treaty. He knelt in the teyrn's personal chapel, prayed to the Maker to be found worthy in his actions and swore fealty to the teyrn along with seven other knights. On the morning they were brought before the teyrn and given their quest. _

_The seven knights were to fetch three wonders that the teyrn could use to defeat and shame the arl. Letholdus readily agreed, assuming that avoiding war would prevent needless bloodshed and would be better for the people. The teyrn laid out his plan for the knights to capture alive a great flying serpent from the Sorren Wood that was said to predict when any Arl of Elynas was to be born or die. They also had to fetch a rare sparrow hawk being kept in a silver cage by a keeper in the remote Saggettivo Castle. The hawk was said to be so keen of eye that it could tell if a man was lying and would attack him, plucking out his eyes. Above all, they had to discover the greatest piece of treasure in a tower on Muer Mountain, guarded by a woman, a bear and a one eyed serpent and bring the treasure to the teyrn. The knights swore to see these three tasks completed and return to the teyrn before a year and a day could pass._

_The knights rode out in their armor and headed in the direction of Muer Mountain, assuming that they should obtain the treasure first and capture the serpent last so that it could be brought alive to the teyrn as soon as it was captured. They entered a wood and were passing through the midst of it when it began to grow dark, a storm rolling in over the tree tops. The lightning flashed and the thunder rumbled causing the earth beneath their feet to tremble. As it grew gradually worse, the knights began searching in vain for shelter and the trees did not help to shield them from the fury of the storm. Eventually they came to a small cottage next to a spring that had cheery light coming from the windows. The knights approached, hailing whoever lived within and waited expectantly for the answer._

_A young elven woman with silver hair and eyes came to the door and greeted the men warily. While some of the men grumbled to be left waiting, Letholdus stepped forward and politely requested that they be permitted to wait out the storm within the cottage. The woman studied him for a moment before reluctantly offering the men a place by her fire. The knights came in and some immediately demanded food and water, which the woman served without complaint before sitting in a corner and doing some needle work by candlelight. While the other knights sat and joked with one another Letholdus approached the woman again and humbly thanked her for her hospitality. Again the woman studied him with eyes that seemed almost ancient, though her face was unwrinkled, before asking him his purpose for being in the woods._

_Letholdus explained that they were on their way to Muer Mountain and about their quest. The woman listened quietly shaking her head, "I am familiar with the mountain, the castle and the woods of which you speak. I have heard stories about all of those places and of the items that you are seeking. What do you know about these stories?"_

_"Next to nothing," admitted Letholdus with a shrug, "we were only told where to find these things."_

_"Then why do you risk your lives to do something of which you know nothing about?"_

_With this Letholdus explained that the current Arl of Elynas was dishonest, readily broke his word and caused the people under him to suffer._

_The woman listened to Letholdus' and rejoined, "Such is the nature of power. The stronger the man, the more he assumes that his power gives him the right to break his word and take what he wants. Most men are faithless. Why worry yourself over a man under whom you do not live?"_

_"Why should any man in power be permitted to break his word, regardless of who he breaks it to?" Letholdus asked the woman in return, "Is it not justice to right this wrong?"_

_"It depends upon who has truly been wronged. Is it not possible for a man to unwittingly break his word and mean no ill intent?"_

_"It does not change the fact that one's word has been broken." Letholdus argued._

_"Yes, but who are you to judge if you are equally guilty?"_

_Letholdus shook his head, "I have always kept my word."_

_"But will you always keep your word?" the woman pressed._

_"Even to the point of death and beyond," Letholdus insisted passionately._

_The woman smiled to herself and chuckled, "Hopefully it will always be thus. It is ironic that the items which you seek are all related to broken promises. However, you seem sincere and because of this I will give you aid."_

_From a pocket the woman pulled out a little whistle and a silver pendant explaining, "Instead of going to Muer Mountain, first go to the Sorren Wood and fetch the great winged serpent. Towards the middle of the wood you will find a clearing where the serpent curls to sleep at night. Carefully approach the serpent and give three short blasts of the whistle. When you have the serpent's attention, hold up the pendant where it can see it. As long as you wear the pendant the serpent will follow you. However, you must promise to leave your sword, your shield and your armor here as a bond. After you have done as I have instructed, return here and I will guide you through your next task."_

_Letholdus nodded and thanked the woman for her help, but when he approached his companion knights they only laughed at him, disparaging everything the old woman had said. Why would any man face such a monster with no weapons or armor and only a whistle and a pendant as protection? The knights insisted that they were going to the mountain for the treasure first and would not follow the woman's instructions. _

_Something about the woman affected Letholdus. He told his comrades in arms that he would fetch the serpent alone and catch up with them at the mountain. The other knights mocked him and called him a fool, but assured him they would come for him as soon as they were done obtaining the treasure and the hawk. _

_While Letholdus made his way to the Sorren Wood, he thought he heard a strange crying, like a woman weeping while walking through the trees. However he saw nothing._

_Finally, he came to an open glade at the heart of the wood and waited for nightfall. As the hours waned, he had a premonition that he was being watched but saw no one and heard nothing, not even the eerie weeping that he had heard on the borders of the forest. The gloaming fell softly through the trees and the wind began to taste of soft mist. _

_As the light dimmed, the wind picked up and a throbbing of wings caused the trees to shiver. The flying serpent lowered itself through an opening in the trees from the sky, coiling into a basket of jewel toned scales of green and blue. Before resting its head, the serpent flicked its tongue, tasting the moist air. Satisfied, it laid its head close to the ground over its voluminous body, delicately shielding it with one of its wings._

_Letholdus carefully crept out of his hiding place and approached the beast, his heart pounding and his mouth becoming dry. He found it particularly hard to blow the whistle through dry lips, but he managed it and produced three short blasts._

_He had expected the serpent to rise up suddenly, but instead it gently raised its wing from its eyes and peered out at him from the shadow it created. The slitted pupils glittered with an odd shine as he raised the pendant from where it hung on his shirt. The serpent then roused itself and edged toward Letholdus._

_"Well, little man," came a woman's voice from the serpent's body, "where did you come by that trinket?"_

_Startled by the sound of the voice, Letholdus answered, "I was given this pendant by a woman in the wood. I need you to come with me. I am sworn to bring you to my teyrn. He hopes to shame the Arl of Elynas who has broken his word and restore peace."_

_"It does not surprise me that any man would break his word, but your word hinges on my good grace," observed the serpent coyly._

_"Yes," admitted Letholdus, "I had been led to believe that this pendant would compel you to follow me as long as I possessed it, but I would prefer your cooperation."_

_The serpent cocked its head before stating, "That pendant is old, but it is not magic. My will is still my own. However, I made a promise to the owner of that pendant to come when summoned by it. I will honor my promise in that I will return to the woman by the spring, but I have no reason to go beyond that. What can you offer me for my cooperation?" _

_Letholdus shrugged, "I am a poor knight without wealth. What service would you require of me in exchange for your kindness?"_

_"Your teyrn is allowed to pass judgment in his lands, his word being law. If he would willingly hear my suit and place verdict on me as a neutral judge, then I would gladly accompany you to him. Only then will I receive satisfaction," the serpent explained._

_"I will bring you to the teyrn," Letholdus acquiesced, "and he will hear your suit. Beyond that, I can not guarantee his verdict, not knowing the nature of the request."_

_"That is all I require. You have my good will and cooperation," the serpent agreed, "lead on, true knight, I will follow you to the lady by the spring."_

_So Letholdus returned to the cottage followed by the serpent. The woman put him up for the night in a soft bed, but as he fell asleep he thought he heard the elf woman and the serpent speaking to each other outside but could not decipher what they said._

_The next morning he was awakened by the elf woman and informed, "You must now travel to Saggettivo Castle and retrieve the sparrow hawk. It is a long journey, but the serpent has agreed to fly you the distance. Once there, you must stand without the wall and blow your whistle three times. You will be answered and given instructions as to what to do next by the keeper within. However, you must promise to leave your sword, your shield and your armor here as a bond. You also must promise not to enter unless you are invited. No man may force his way into that castle for any reason. After you have done as I instructed, return here and I will guide you through your last task."_

_Letholdus agreed to the terms and was ushered outside where the serpent waited. He begged her pardon as he crawled onto her smooth back and the elven woman instructed him to take hold of a harness she had fashioned during the night so he would not fall. The flying serpent lifted into the air and soared into the sky. They flew for many days, but dared not stop to eat or sleep until they spotted the castle in the distance and landed just outside the outer walls. It looked deserted and there was no light within. _

_Doubtful, Letholdus approached the arches of a large door and made three short blasts on the whistle. After a moment there were footsteps heard on the upper parapets and a woman's voice called out, "Who whistles for the keeper?"_

"_I have been sent to obtain the sparrow hawk that can see all truth," Letholdus announced._

"_Are you not going to attack the walls? I can see that you have a most fierce mount that flies. Could you not simply fly over the walls and take what you require?" The voice questioned from the shadows above, emotionless._

"_I promised that I would not enter unless invited and I come unarmed," Letholdus continued, "I have sworn to bring the sparrow hawk to my teryn. He wishes to humble the Arl of Elynas who has broken his word and restore peace."_

_There was silence for a moment before the voice continued, ""It does not surprise me that any man would break his word, but your word hinges on my good grace."_

"_Yes, I do require your cooperation. I cannot take your charge by force." Letholdus admitted._

_There was another pause before the voice continued, "My charge is that I must keep the bird, and to not permit it to fall into the hands of the unworthy. However, I made a pledge that I would accompany any man with a flying serpent to the one who gave me my charge. I will honor my pledge in that I will return to the woman by the spring, but I have no reason to go beyond that. What can you offer me for my cooperation?"_

_Letholdus shrugged, "I am a poor knight without wealth. What service would you require of me in exchange for your favor?"_

_"I would ask for your blind obedience at a moment of my choosing, without question. I will only ask it once and no more." The voice stated this hurriedly, as if afraid that Letholdus would not agree._

_"I will agree to your request, provided that you will not ask me to harm an innocent or do anything that would impugn my honor."_

_The voice answered, "I swear to neither ask you to harm an innocent nor request something that would impugn your honor or my eyes will be forfeit to this sparrow hawk."_

_"Then we are agreed."_

_"Come then, true knight," beckoned the voice as the doors opened wide, "I presume your journey has been long. You and your flying serpent must rest this night here. We will depart at dawn's first light to reach the woman at the spring."_

_The keeper greeted them just inside the doors and was a beautiful elven woman with copper colored hair. She ushered Letholdus and the serpent into the courtyard. Before Letholdus would allow himself to be fed, he made sure the serpent's needs were provided for and that it was resting comfortably. After that he was led to a fine room, hung with tapestries and cheered by a roaring fire. There was a table handsomely set with silver dishes of food and golden goblets of drink. Once he had his fill he was led to a room with a soft bed and he fell deeply asleep until the sun rose the following morning._

_The sparrow hawk's keeper carefully strapped the silver cage housing the sparrow hawk to the back of the flying serpent before both she and Letholdus crawled up behind the serpent's head. The serpent took to the air once more, flying faster than ever so that the return trip to the woman at the spring only took half of the time even with the added burden._

_Letholdus returned to the cottage riding the gentle serpent and embraced by the lady who kept the sparrow hawk. The silver haired woman seemed greatly pleased and once again put him up for the night in a soft bed, but as he fell asleep he thought he heard the two women and the serpent speaking to each other outside but could not decipher what they said._

_On the morning, Letholdus was awakened and informed, "You must now rejoin what is left of your brothers-in-arms at Muer Mountain. The wind tells me they have sustained losses and have been humbled by the trials of the mountain. They did not know that only one from the line of Elynas can defeat the mountain for they would not heed me. Take the winged serpent and take the sparrow hawk with its seeker up the mountain. They will take care of any obstacles you will face and keep you safe. However, you must promise to leave your sword, your shield and your armor here as a bond. You may not raise a weapon to anything on the mountain. Once you have reached the vault at the summit, show the guard this small, gold key. It will open the way to the most priceless treasure in the vault. You may only take that one piece of treasure and return it to your teyrn, along with the sparrow hawk and the serpent."_

_Letholdus was distraught at these instructions. He did not like the idea of travelling to such a dangerous place where his comrades were dying without a weapon or means of defense. He tried to argue with the woman, but she was unmoved and would not give him the key without his first consenting to her terms. Finally, with much misgiving, Letholdus agreed. He climbed upon the serpent along with the keeper and the sparrow hawk before the serpent took to the sky and flew to the mountain in great haste._

_At the base of the mountain Letholdus found two knights remaining, one of them had been poisoned by venom and did not seem long for this world. Upon speaking with them Letholdus discovered that the two bravest, strongest and proudest of them had gone up the mountain first and had not returned after four days. Three more knights had gone up the mountain together, leaving the last two behind and had only been gone for more than a few hours when the two remaining knights had heard their screams and raced up the slopes to find them. They discovered two of their bodies and the third was unaccounted for when they were ambushed by a bear with razor claws. They retreated in hopes of regrouping, but the wounded knight had tripped and fell into a nest of adders and had been stung. _

_Letholdus was gravely concerned and considered taking up the arms of the fallen knight, but remembered his promise to the elven woman and abstained from breaking his word, though he was sure it meant his own death. However, the keeper herself took up the knight's arms and knelt before Letholdus, "True knight, it is time to redeem your vow. Knight me here by the name of the Creator so that I may accompany you up the mountain." _

_"Who am I that I might knight you, a woman?" Letholdus questioned her._

_The woman only answered him, "You promised me blind obedience in exchange for my aid. Do this now and question me no more."_

_Letholdus, remembering his pledge and not wishing to be forsworn knighted the sparrow hawk's keeper. They once again crawled onto the flying serpent's back and promised the remaining knights that they would return soon. Then they took to the air once more and flew the rest of the way up the mountain until they reached the mouth of a large cave at the top. The serpent landed and allowed Letholdus and the keeper to dismount before an even larger serpent with one large eye emerged. Its fangs dripped venom and it was ten times larger than the winged serpent. Letholdus despaired of them getting past the beast, but the winged serpent reassured him, "Fear not, true knight. This is not your fight. I will dispatch this monster for you. Your true test will come later."_

_With that the winged serpent attacked the one-eyed serpent and, being quick and smaller, managed to evade the larger serpent's fangs. Flying up, the winged serpent landed just behind the one-eyed serpent's head where it could not reach before striking. The larger serpent fell in a roiling mass of agony until it died._

_After the large serpent had been dispatched, a large bear emerged from the cave with razor claws. It bore down on Letholdus and the knighted keeper, but the woman turned to him and reassured him, "Fear not, true knight. This is not your fight. I will dispatch this monster for you. Your true test will come later."_

_With those words the keeper knight attacked the bear. The bear had grown accustomed to the hulk and movements of larger men in armor, but the keeper knight was quick and managed to keep our of reach of the bear's sharp clause, maneuvering herself behind the beast before finally decapitating it._

_After the bear had been dispatched a beautiful elven woman with hair that shone like gold came to the mouth of the cave and said, "You have defeated the two guardians of the treasure. What is thy bidding?"_

_Letholdus presented the little gold key to the final guard and stated, "I was given this key by a woman in the wood who lives by a spring. I need to fetch the greatest treasure from the vault." _

_"Only the one treasure?" The golden haired woman cocked her head, "You have defeated the guardians, surely you could take far more than one treasure and carry it away on your fierce serpent?"_

_"I am no thief. I only want that which I have been sworn to find to my teyrn. He hopes to shame the Arl of Elynas who has broken his word and restore peace." Letholdus said this with deep sincerity that the guardian softened._

_"My charge is that I must guard the treasure in this vault, and to not permit it to fall into the hands of the unworthy. However, I made a vow that I will allow the one bearing this key to take the one treasure which you seek and return it to the woman at the spring. I will honor my pledge in that I will return with you to the woman by the spring bearing the treasure, but I have no reason to go beyond that and allow you to bring it to the teyrn. What can you offer me for my cooperation?"_

_Letholdus shrugged, "I am a poor knight without wealth. What service would you require of me in exchange for your favor?"_

_The woman took the key and left momentarily, disappearing into the cavern. She returned carrying an amazing sword with a jeweled hilt and scabbard and held it up before Letholdus, "This is the sword of justice. Only one who values justice can see its true worth, to any other it would appear to be a tarnished blade. If you promise me that you alone will use the sword to dispense justice, then you will have my cooperation."_

_"I swear that I will only use the sword to dispense justice and will not abuse it."Letholdus promised to protect the blade with his life._

_"Let us go, true knight." The lady surrendered the sword into Letholdus' keeping and led the band down the mountain to where the last two knights waited. The guardian of the vault administered an antidote for the adder venom to the injured knight, sparing his life. The band returned to the woman's cottage by the spring. She saw to their wounds and allowed them to rest there for the knight. Once again, as Letholdus drifted into slumber he thought he heard the three women and the serpent speaking in hushed tones outside, but could not hear what they said._

_The following morning the silver haired woman awoke him, saying, "Today you must go to your teyrn who has not remained patient in your absence. He has gathered an army on the edge of his lands and awaits the Arl of Elynas on a field ready for battle. To save many lives you must go now and present your treasures before him. Hopefully this will achieve the peace you seek to maintain. I will accompany you with the others."_

_Letholdus flew ahead on the serpent while the three ladies and the two knights followed behind, conveying the silver cage with the sparrow hawk that could see all truth. When they reached the edge of the teyrn's lands they could see him parlaying with a man they assumed was the Arl of Elynas beneath a large, ancient oak tree. Letholdus swooped down on the serpent, causing both sides to tremble with fear until the teyrn realized who it was. The teyrn became bold and sneered at the arl, "Ha! My faithful knights have obtained your family's greatest treasures from the far reaches of this land. You cannot stand before me!"_

_Letholdus presented the serpent, the sparrow hawk and the sword to his teyrn. The teyrn seemed sufficiently impressed by the serpent and the sparrow hawk, but seemed to overlook the sword entirely. He made a great show before the arl, praising the two amazing beasts. Just then the woman from the cottage came forward, "Your true knight has made a promise to a lady that you would hear a suit and pass judgment." This statement caused Letholdus some confusion, for it was his promise to the serpent, but the teyrn nodded in mock beneficence and sat before the silver haired woman, waiting for her to continue._

_"Long ago a man had three daughters who were alienated from him and cast out as the result of a carelessly, though unintentionally broken promise made by the man. The daughters and their mother suffered, causing vengeance to seethe within the girls' hearts without any mercy to temper it. The eldest and most powerful of the three captured the man with the aid of her sisters. The younger two sisters were content to merely imprison the luckless man, but the eldest daughter's rage burned hotter than theirs. In a moment of frenzy she executed him before her sisters could dissuade her from such a rash action. Their mother, also being powerful, punished her daughters but was also moved by love for them. She imprisoned them all and devised a penance appropriate for each. However they have served patiently for so long that their mother believes they should be released. How would you judge them, oh wise and just teyrn?"_

_"The younger daughter can be released, but the eldest daughter must die for her crime. Killing her father is unpardonable. This is my judgment."_

_"How soon must your sentence be carried out?" The silver haired woman inquired without emotion._

_"Immediately!" The teyrn intoned this command with full certainty._

_The silver haired woman then turned to Letholdus and said, "You are the arm of justice, true knight. You hold the sword that must take the life that is forfeit," she motioned to the serpent and stated, "this is the eldest daughter. You must strike off her head."_

_Letholdus looked horrified. The serpent had been loyal and kind to him and he loathed to kill her, even knowing her crime, but the serpent whispered to him, "Fear not, true knight. You have been honorable in all your dealings with me. I welcome justice from your hands and your hands alone, for you have seen me with pity in your heart and have neither treated me like a monster nor hated me for my ugliness. Fear not to strike off my head, for it is just."_

_Reluctantly Letholdus removed the sword from its scabbard and approached the serpent. She lowered her head so that he might strike cleanly. With a strong, clean stroke, Letholdus struck off the serpent's head and she bled onto the battlefield more blood than possessed by five armies._

_The teyrn was horrified, for he had intended to use the flying serpent to attack his enemies. He bellowed, "Seize this faithless knight who has tarnished my victory by destroying the serpent."_

_"He carried out the judgment you passed upon the guilty. He is far from faithless," the silver haired woman reasoned with the teyrn, but he paid her no heed._

_"Your majesty," stated Letholdus, "I strove to be honest and honorable in all my dealings. I have represented you in your quest to restore peace and prevent bloodshed."_

_The teyrn laughed mirthlessly, "Then you are a fool. I care not for peace. I spoke the words that you needed to hear to gain your aid and nothing more. Now you are useless to me for you have destroyed one of my prizes."_

_With that the copper haired keeper removed the sparrow hawk's hood. When the bird looked upon the dishonest teyrn, it flew from the keeper's hand and attacked, plucking out the teryn's right eye. The teyrn gripped his face as blood trickled through his hands and the bird flew away into the open sky. In a rage the teyrn turned his ire upon Letholdus, grabbed the sword of justice from Letholdus' hand and stabbed the true knight through the heart with it before striking the sword into the ground. Letholdus fell upon the roots of the great oak tree and watered it with his own blood before dying from his mortal wound._

_The teyrn turned with disgust and began to lead his troops off the field before the voice of the silver haired woman stopped him, "Arrogant, evil man, in your greed and fury you have defiled justice, which you did not recognize and were blinded as a result of your own dishonesty. My daughter killed her father for breaking his word and causing unintentional suffering, but you have slain the innocent. May your judgment poison you and choke your line, destroying all vestiges of you for the rest of eternity."_

_At that moment, from out of the winged serpent's skin walked a beautiful woman. She turned to the teyrn herself and pointed at him, "You chose execution for me when you are not fit to judge any. The only man worthy of passing judgment lies dead on this field by your hand. My serpent nature was killed through his justice and I was redeemed by his compassion. His blood will spread through the ground and live again, just as I was permitted to live again regardless of the judgment of a faithless man."_

_With that the four women approached the body of Letholdus, joined hands and encircled him. The wind blew, the lightning flashed, the thunder rolled and in a flash of light they all disappeared, including Letholdus' body. The teyrn was shocked and frightened, leaving the field of battle and never again did he issue challenge to the Arl of Elynas._

_At the foot of the oak tree where Letholdus died a small bittersweet plant grew. Over time that little plant grew and began to twine around the oak tree's trunk. Any who passed the tree told the story and believed that the plant was the life essence of Letholdus. After a few seasons the bittersweet vines overgrew the oak and eventually choked the tree until it died. _

_The teyrn died not long after the tree from being poisoned. His land had steadily declined, the crops failed and many of the people left. He had no living heirs. It would take many years after his death before those lands became fruitful again and all refused to speak his name, though everyone remembered Letholdus and honored his memory._

_

* * *

_

Author's Note:

All the other interludes have been of my own creation. This one is more of an adapted sequel I wrote for an old French folk tale called the Story of Pressyne. The version that I became familiar with through Encyclopedia Mythica was adapted by Linda Foubister at . .


	14. Chapter 9: Words Too Far

**Chapter 9: Words Too Far**

**Allistair**

As the evening wore on in our camp at the edge of the village, there was a sense of restlessness among us. Svenya shifted every so often, trying to stretch and ease the aching muscles she had achieved through her sparring session with Ser Grey. Ser Grey would address a pointed comment to her that bordered on encouragement. Something had changed between the two of them over the course of the day, as if Grey had thawed something within himself. At the same time it worried me, if thaws happened too suddenly even granite might crack from the strain.

The palatable antagonism between the two of them had metamorphosed into a grudging respect. Svenya had unintentionally become the sounding board for his aggravation. Without her presence who would he gripe at as readily? He was withheld by tradition and decorum from fully venting upon me, as I had come to realize. Rian was a subordinate and on a lower level due to his age and his naiveté, readily accepting Grey's tempers and orders as a commander. Svenya was the closest thing that Grey had to an equal. She challenged him and never accepted ill treatment. Deep down I suspect he had reluctantly developed a need for her honesty. She had unknowingly encouraged him to be more human and less stone.

Even Rian appeared to be at a mild level of disquiet. He was charged with cooking our meal that evening. It was our first meal in days made entirely with fresh produce and he managed to burn it beyond our ability to differentiate it from the coals that it cooked on.

He sheepishly apologized and Svenya offered to remake it, saying, "This can be salvaged. You should have seen me when I was younger and Bruna attempted to teach me how to cook. It was so hideous that not even the hunting dogs would touch it. What a blow it was to my maiden pride to see the dogs turn up their noses. Do not fear, though, I assure you that I have improved somewhat since then. With the right seasonings it will only taste like dirt."

Rian smiled at this, but continued to look troubled. I suspect he was thinking back to what had been said between Ser Grey and Svenya on the road. Her departure from us was eminent and we were beginning to feel her loss from our midst.

On a certain level I both recognized this and I tried to ignore it. We had come to rely on her and on a certain level it had seemed unfair. Aside from my two companions, I felt as if she filled a void that I had forgotten. Like Ser Grey, she treated me as an equal and I was returned to a sense of belonging that the alienation of kingship had denied me and had begun to extend to my other two companions as well. The road returning to Denerim seemed a lonelier one for want of her. Now with this change in Grey I had vaguely begun to hope we could speak again of having her return with us.

Tying her to us, however, might require her to share her true purpose for this trip that she was so reluctant to discuss. Her nightmares that she avoided mentioning had been growing worse over time as we drew closer to Herfirien. There were nights when I watched and I could hear her mumble and worry in her sleep, though during the daylight she was garrulous and bright, betraying no sign of her nightly distresses.

I wondered about the scars she had confided that one time and never spoke of again. Thinking about it brought me back to the nebulous dream that I only remembered in fractured fragments, but one piece remained sharply etched in my mind, _"But blood must be paid, a choice must be made: will it be the mask or the scars?"_ That one question continued to haunt me while all the rest of it faded.

"It can't be that bad!"

The exclamation jerked me out of my reverie and I looked right into the teasing eyes through the slits of her mask. She scolded, "You look so grieved. I haven't poisoned you have I?" She questioned me as she motioned toward my untouched food.

"Poisoning would be far less painful," I teased back, trying to shake myself from my gloomy reverie by returning her jest, "I doubt one could be poisoned by coal."

"Actually, I believe that Bruna used coal dust to counteract some suspected poisons," she nodded with mock seriousness.

My eyebrow skewed with that, "Oh, so you were trying to rescue us from poisoning? I think I will return to my previous observation that poisoning would be far less painful."

"I apologize, your Majesty, for offending your palette."

"Is this some elaborate form of revenge then for my lack of bathing? I offend your nose and you offend my palette?"

She shook her head, "There would be no point in avenging myself for that. You punish your own nose as well as ours. I think we have _all_ been sufficiently and sensually offended."

I smiled wickedly, unable to stop myself, "Oh, have we moved on to sensual offenses then?"

Both Rian and Grey looked up with those words, startled by the implications of the question. Svenya and I seemed unable to stop, even for the sake of decorum.

"Not when you smell so badly!" she remonstrated cruelly before quickly sticking out her tongue.

"Be careful, my girl," I chided, "Such actions can be interpreted as an invitation."

"I am not your girl," she repudiated.

I waggled my eyebrows suggestively, "Care to come over here and say that?"

She suddenly sat still, as if I had doused her with frigid water and knocked the air out of her lungs. Perhaps she thought I was mocking her or perhaps it touched too closely on the unpleasantness she suffered not so long ago. Whatever it was I had obviously said the wrong thing. She stared at me a moment, unsure of how to respond. After an awkward pause she regained some sense of herself and turned her attention to Rian, trying to recover her tone of cool amusement, "I am sorry, my Red Knight. My valiant attempts to rescue our meal have apparently failed."

I was overwhelmed with the urge to apologize to her and mentally reviewed where I had strayed, wondering how I had let it go so far. It had started out innocently enough. In some far off corner of my mind I felt like I had called up a spirit of Zevran and it made me feel filthier than I already smelled. That Antivan lecher had returned to my mind as a ghost. He had only ever spoken earnestly to me once that I could recall.

_He had approached me once when we were at camp and sat down next to me before stating, "Do you know why you despise me?"_

_I had glared at him, deciding that it was better not to answer, assuming that he was only trying to bait me. Undeterred he continued, "You despise me because we are not so different. We were orphaned young by the deaths of our mothers. We were sent away from the only homes we ever knew to be trained in ways that we did not choose. We made the best of it and we learned from it. We became stronger men."_

"_Is there some purpose for all of this?" I asked pointedly._

_He continued, refusing to be rushed by my impatience, "I am honest when I speak. That is the one difference between us. I only say things that I mean. I admit that sometimes it takes my head a few minutes to catch up with my mouth, but I have never hid what I am from those who have actually mattered. I am not ashamed of what I am and because of that I feel a sense of acceptance. That is why you hate me, but it is not really me that you hate. You are angry at yourself for not being honest and denying yourself what your heart truly desires out of some misplaced sense of honor."_

"_What would you know of honor?" I demanded, "You kill for money and out of a sense of sport. You have no concept of loyalty or sacrificing for something greater than yourself."_

_For a moment I thought he gave me a pitying look, but almost instantaneously it was replaced with his normal expression of nonchalance, "Sacrifice is one thing, but in the end is it just another mask?"_

"_Leave me alone." I narrowed my eyes and stared him down until he shrugged and walked away._

_We never spoke again after that. He had continued on without complaint or judgment. She had taken him with her that day along with Winn and Sten to face the Archdemon. I imagine he stood by her to the end while I failed the one person who truly cared about me. _

_He attended her memorial service and stood at her grave with the others. After my required speech I had caught his eye, half expecting him to glare, assuming he blamed me for not being the one on the slab. The look however was one of pain, mingled with that touch of pity that he momentarily wore the one time he had ventured to speak to me._

_He left shortly after that and I forced him from my mind much the same way I had tried to force__** her**__ from my mind._

_Damn Antivan! Only he could say such things with impunity. At least I hadn't punctuated it with something worse like, "Alright, but I get to look at you luridly while you do so."_

Svenya seemed intent upon pretending that certain words had never been uttered. She continued to joke tamely with Rian about how to better improve the taste of dirt with wood shavings. It also added to the texture and color as well. Rian allowed her to pretend that nothing had been said and enthusiastically contributed to her imagined recipe adjustments that might have "saved" the inedible food before us.

Her attempts to embroil Ser Grey in the continued, food related mockery was rebuffed. He was surly over having his supper spoiled, but had graciously refrained from blatant complaints. Rian and Svenya's giddiness over the food was more than he could bear, "This is better than starving, but you need not be so merry about it."

"Would you prefer us to be morose, Ser Lion?"

"No." he spat out sullenly.

"Pardon, Ser Lion," she said in mock regret, "I did not intend to harp on the food. Harping comes naturally to a bard so I do it without thinking."

Rian groaned with the blatant word play, she grinned but resisted a moment from extending it. They giggled like young children. I smiled to myself as I opted to stop worrying over my previous verbal lapse and interjected, "Perhaps actual harping would improve the flavor. I have heard it said that musical accompaniment aids in digestion."

"The only appropriate accompaniment would be a dirge." Rian qualified with a wince.

We continued to laugh and scold each other while Grey continued to chew, bent on ignoring us. Svenya wittily sang to herself:

"Men of valor, eat my meal.

You who claim nerves of steel.

You so easily speak of pride,

but do you have armor for your insides?

Chivalry is surely not dead,

follow your heart, not your head.

Let me not have cooked in vain.

Come ingest the camaraderie of pain."

This last was more than Ser Grey could stand and he growled with exasperation, "Why aren't you on a farm somewhere raising fat children and scolding your husband instead of bothering me?"

Although her face was masked, you could see the light die in her eyes with that comment and she said in a more sober voice, "Because my farm was not far from Lothering and it was destroyed during the Blight."

Grey softened slightly and nodded his head with a bent of regret, sorry that he had spoken so harshly without thinking.

"Is that how your face was scarred?" I asked softly, gently, like one speaking to a wounded dog, trying to figure out where it was hurt.

"No," she shook her head slightly and the answer sounded hollow, "my scars were given to me by a monster in the guise of a man many years ago." She leaned back into her tree and poked at the embers on the edge of the fire with a stick, staring into them though the light did not show in her eyes.

"I'm sorry." I intoned quietly and she did not initially respond.

Then she whispered quietly, "The mercy was that my little son had died three or four months before the Blight began from some sickness in his lungs. My husband had tried to get us to the nearest village as soon as we started getting reports that the darkspawn had been seen. There had been no sign of them, until they suddenly attacked on the road, grunting and howling. He told me to run and that he would catch up. He had some crazy idea that we should split up and it would confuse them, he wanted to lead them away before doubling back and meeting me at the village. He never came. When I went back to search for his body I found nothing. It was like he had been erased. That whole life I had built, our farm, our home, it was all gone as if it had never existed, like I had dreamed it all and suddenly woke up in an abandoned doorway."

Grey, Rian and I looked helplessly at one another. Three knights and we were completely defenseless in the face of such raw pain. She had been so adept at avoiding any mention of her past and I had never sought to undermine her sense of privacy. To have the information volunteered in such a fashion was unnerving. Rian was the one that broke the stunned silence by admitting, "I have never experienced loss like that. I wish I knew what to say. How do you continue on?"

She gave him a half smile, "What other choice do I have? He died to save me. If I gave up he would have done it for nothing. How could I dishonor him like that?"

My heart wrung with those words, but I managed to maintain a level voice when I asked, "Does it get easier?"

"Not yet." She admitted, "Mayhap later."

For a while afterwards, we just sat in the firelight and contemplated the surrounding darkness and silence. The spell of melancholy was only broken when Rian suddenly discerned music coming from a nearby hut and called our attention to it, "Do you hear that?"

The tempo was upbeat and lively as a group of musicians fiddled and thumped. People were laughing and the sounds escalated indicating that people had begun to dance. Boots thrummed into the ground and we sat listening, transfixed, momentarily shaken from our silent stupor.

"Dance with me, Rian." Svenya hastily commanded getting to her feet. "It is a sacrilege to waste such music. My muscles could use a stretch after today's beating."

Rian shook his head, gesturing to his injured thigh, "I don't think I can manage. The travel today has overtaxed my injury; otherwise I would be more than willing."

She looked disappointed but immediately turned to me, "That would leave you as my only option, your Majesty, as I am not sure I could bear Ser Lion's crushing refusal."

"I am sorry to disappoint you," I explained, slightly alarmed, "but I cannot dance."

"You cannot dance?" she questioned. I shook my head and, after clicking her tongue disapprovingly, she continued, "That will not do. A king should be able to dance as well as any man, if not better." She grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet and onto the pine needled ground of the clearing. The strains of lively music continued to swell while she maneuvered me around and adjusted my body into some kind of stance.

"I can not dance!" I insisted but she wouldn't heed me, placing my left hand on her waist and taking my right hand into her left.

"Of course you can," she smiled as she peered into my face. Even in the gloom of the twilight her eyes shone with mischievous glee from behind the mask, "I've seen you dance with mercenaries and bandits, only you do it with a sword. Dancing requires balance, rhythm and maneuverability, just like when you battle or spar. You have to move your feet without looking down and watch your partner. If it helps, picture my waist as your shield and my hand as your sword hilt. Keep your eye on me as you would your opponent and follow my lead."

Putting dancing in those terms it made it easier to comprehend. As I watched her I felt her gently lead me around the clearing through the pressure of her fingers, her subtle retreats and the movement of her waist under my hand. It was as if I were following where my hands lead me, much like your body does when you move to advance after an enemy with a blow. The only difference was the bounce in her steps that I tried to copy. After I stumbled twice and cursed under my breath she assured, "Don't worry, your majesty, I won't let you fall."

As we continued to dance I found myself starting to anticipate the steps better. By the second dance, as the music changed to a more feverish pitch, I found that I was no longer following her retreats as much as I was swinging her with my momentum and we began to spring around the clearing with the music. She was smiling with merriment and I could feel myself also grinning and moving faster. We were like two of the deer that roamed the hills near Redcliff. As a young boy I had tried to chase them over the rough crags but never quite reaching them, my heart pounding in my chest, feeling like I would live forever in that moment. It was that exhilaration that I felt as we spun. The dancing consumed me until the music stopped and we collapsed to the ground out of breath with the exertion and our laughter. It had been so long since I had been that obliviously happy, heedless of where we were or what happened around us. If only it could have lasted longer.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_I didn't initially intend for a flashback of Zevran to occur, it just sort of happened. I'm sorry this installment is so long in arriving. I have so many plans for what will come next that I am excited to continue and frustrated that it is taking so long. I'm hoping to post more regularly from here on. _


	15. Chapter 10: Real Nightmares

**Chapter 10: Real Nightmares**

**Svenya**

The mirth was broken. It was shattered with the screams of men, women and children scattering into their homes to hide while a number of heavily armed men rode into the village on horseback, faces concealed by helmets, circling the outskirts. Almost instantly lights disappeared from the windows and an eerie, artificial hush descended. It was the hush of people too frightened to breathe, waiting for something monstrous to find them.

Sellose and I had been dancing only seconds before. We were sitting on the ground simultaneously laughing and trying to catch our breath. My head still whirled lightly with the sudden stop of momentum; we hadn't realized then why the music had stopped so suddenly. When the screaming started all three of the knights grabbed their swords and made to head in the direction of the screams only to have the screaming die within moments. They stood stunned, trying to discern where to go until I grabbed Sellose by the arm, "Hold, don't run blindly into the village. You saw those men thundering around the village only a moment ago. Those men will either cut you to pieces on finding you or worse. They have armor, you don't. Get down" I explained while simultaneously grabbing my bag of effects and pouring water over the campfire.

"What are you doing? Now we can't see." Sellose argued.

"And now _they _can't see you. Believe me, in moments there will be more than enough fires by which to see."

Rian whispered uneasily, "The people were screaming a moment ago and now it's silent. What happened?"

"It was a warning. The people are hiding now, waiting."

"These might be the mercenaries raiding the village! Maybe they are looking for us. We need to protect these people." Sellose argued with me.

I shook my head, my ears pounding with my heartbeat, "It isn't mercenaries. Even a large group wouldn't openly attack a village this size."

"How do you know?" demanded Grey.

"Raids like this are not uncommon in these mountains. Grab what you can. We are leaving_ now,_ there is no time to waste."

Rian's voice demanded in the darkness, "Who are they?"

I swallowed hard before answering, "Templars!"

"Impossible!" sputtered Grey.

"I wish it were," I sighed, trying to think clearly. They didn't understand what was happening so I had to take charge, "We don't have time to argue. Now listen: if something happens and we get separated in the confusion you need to know where to go from here in order to reach your destination."

"We are not going to split up!" Rian protested.

"We will if we have to!" I admonished him before continuing, thinking everything through as I spoke, "Now, technically they are going to target the villagers…so we could just stay to the outer perimeter just beyond the tree line. Herfirien is a day and a half walk from here if you travel from sun-up to sundown tomorrow. The trail can be picked up on the Nortwest side of this village and it is more widely travelled so you don't really need to look as carefully for the markers. However, if these Templars are using this trail, then you will need to follow it while remaining concealed just off the path."

"But Templars do not attack villages," Grey insisted, "They only hunt apostates."

"If it makes you feel any better Ser Lion, they are probably attacking this village under the guise that it is full of apostates."

I could hear him shaking his head in the darkness, refusing to believe what I was trying to explain, "They couldn't kill an entire village. The Chantry would never endorse or allow it."

"They don't care about the Chantry and the Chantry here won't stop them. They also have no intention of killing the entire village." I was trying to make myself numb, to drown out the voices of panic ringing in my head with my own dispassionate words to Grey, "They will kill only those that resist or to make an example so that the others will be less likely to struggle. The rest they will gather and take to perform penance."

"Penance?" Sellose whispered this question, the tone saying that he wasn't sure he really wanted to know the answer.

"Purification through labor." I stated flatly, "Look, there is no time for these explanations. The longer we wait the harder it will be for us to get away from here. I know how they work. I've witnessed two raids before and they followed a set pattern."

"Alright," Sellose encouraged, "what is the pattern."

"They usually conduct these raids with a force of thirteen men." I began, trying to calm myself enough so I could picture what I was saying in my own mind, "They divide into two groups. Eight of them form a perimeter guard, evenly spread around all points, preventing as many from escaping as they can manage. The remaining five work as a group going from house to house rounding up people, burning the villager's homes as they go so that they can force them out and limit the places people can hide. It is very methodic. They travel from one end of the village to the other like this. It is just a question of which corner they will begin with. During the confusion, the perimeter guard will look for people trying to escape the village. We can avoid the Templars completely if we stay beyond the tree line to the west and head north."

"We can't just let them do this," Rian cut in with a hiss, "these are innocent people. They are not apostates!"

"There is no way we can save these people," I declared, trying to reason with him, "You have no armor. There are too many of these men. You have a mission that you must complete. You must reach Herfirien."

Grey's voice spoke up, "She is right. We are sworn to a task we must complete."

"There has to be a way!" Rian was imploring. It was breaking my heart and I wanted to go along with him, but what would happen to my knights if they challenged heavily armed Templars? They would die. I hadn't brought them this far to watch them fall at Templar hands.

Then Sellose spoke up, "It is true that we would have no chance if we attacked them en masse. However," he paused, wetting his lips before continuing, "Svenya, you said that they spread out around the perimeter. If we took down two of them we might open a wide enough gap to enable some of the villagers to escape. At least give some of them a chance. Is there anywhere they could go from here where they might find sanctuary?"

"Herfirien's Chantry would offer them shelter." I acquiesced.

"You also mentioned, Svenya, that the main path out of here is to the northwest. The Templars might expect more people to naturally head in that direction as well in an attempt to make it to the path. If we disable two of the Templars on the eastern perimeter of the village and signal at least some of the villagers to head in that direction, we could perhaps help a small group evade the Templars before the rest discovered anything amiss." Sellose offered this plan.

"How do you suggest we inform the villagers of where to go?" Grey asked pointedly. "And let us not forget that you are proposing to disable two heavily armed and well trained men. How do you intend to do that?"

"I was trained to be a Templar once. I have a good idea of what the weaknesses are and the methods they use. You, Rian and I can use the darkness to our advantage and circle around them. From what Svenya says they will be more focused on people within the village trying to escape. They won't be expecting a back assault." Sellose took a breath before turning to me, "Svenya, you are more likely to know how the Templars would operate within the village and you are adept at moving stealthily so you are less likely to be detected. Could you find some villagers and guide them to the eastern perimeter? I know I am asking you to take the greatest risk. We can't do this without you."

I sighed, I didn't like the chances he was suggesting, but I didn't like the idea of allowing the Templars to take these people any more than Rian did. Once again I was at a moment of decision with the lives of strangers resting in my hands.

"I will manage, but you have to promise me if this all falls apart and the Templars take me you won't try to attack them to rescue me. Just leave me and get to Arl Auber in Herfirien."

"Svenya…" Rian said my name as if ready to argue but I cut him off.

"Give me your word of honor! I refuse to do this if I do not receive a pledge from each of you."

Each of them voiced their ascent to my terms, though their voices held grim reluctance. Grey added, "I suppose there is no point in asking me if I agree to all of this. You all seem intent on this course of action. I will do my best. But make no mistake, _Ser Sellose_, you and I will have words when this is done."

"I would not have it any other way," Sellose replied humbly.

With that we parted company, but before they left I took each of their hands in turn. My bag of effects I handed to Rian with the admonishment, "Take care of this. If my lute is missing a string when next I play it, your head will be forfeit." I hoped my bravado reassured him, for I was genuinely frightened.

Creeping into the midst of the village, I tried to get my bearings and estimate where the Templars would begin work. I had barely gotten halfway to the marketplace when I heard the Templar "_Horn of Calling_" at the southwestern-most edge of the village. This was their signal to one another that the "_winnowing_" had begun. I started to smell faint smoke as the first huts were set ablaze with some distant cries of the captured. It was too late to help them, I had to keep moving. I crept between huts and around stalls in the village market place, trying to keep to the shadows. This became increasingly difficult, however, as the Templars tasked with clearing the village set new buildings ablaze with each successive home being cleared. I decided to try the eastern portion of the village near the market to find people, which wasn't hard. Even when people hide in the dark, their silences are distinctive. The first hut I came to had an elderly woman and her three grandchildren trying vainly to hide in a crawl space under their floor boards. I could hear the youngest child whimpering as I crept through the doorway.

I whispered to them, trying to calm them and convince them that I meant no harm. If they stayed the Templars would burn the hut. If they had problems getting out from under the floor boards they would be burned to death. "Please, you must come with me. I have a way I can get you out of the village but you have to trust me."

"How do I know you want to help us? I don't know you. I can't see your face. You could betray us to the Templars. They'll send us to the mines." The woman argued, clutching her granddaughter to her breast, the child was so young she probably couldn't even walk, "They already took my daughter."

My mask made the grandmother uneasy because she could not see my face. In her eyes I was just as frightening as the Templars with their visages concealed by helmets. How could I gain her trust if she couldn't see me?

With no time to reconsider I lifted the mask above my forehead without removing it completely but letting it rest at my crown. She scrutinized my face for a moment before her own grew slightly ashen as she looked at me. I reasoned, "I understand you are frightened. I know what they are capable of and what will happen if they catch us, but your grandchildren will have a better chance if you come with me now. We don't have time."

There were no more arguments and I secured the mask once again over my face. I carried the second smallest child, a little boy no more than four winters old. Through the streets that were starting to smell even more distinctly of smoke. The third child gripped the hem of her grandmother's tunic as we moved to the next hut. Here there was a husband and wife with a son who was almost a man himself. I quickly and quietly coaxed them to follow me, but the fires were spreading and the shadows were wavering, dancing just beyond us by the light of the flames. Many more than this would be difficult to smuggle out, but I found two women hiding between huts and beckoned them to follow us as well. An old man saw us from behind a stall and he came without being asked, but he moved slowly and lagged behind.

The fires would not wait for him and neither would the Templars. He was too old for their purposes. He would be one to be singled out for an example to frighten the others if we left him behind. I signaled the husband to help him, carry him if he had to. We could not wait and I dared not leave him.

We scuttled from hut to hut, cover to cover, remaining low to the ground, but the sounds of screaming grew louder on the west side of the village opposite us. We had to keep ahead of the Templars, there was no way we could fight our way out of this. My eyes were watering with the smoke as I got them to the eastern edge and stopped to scan the eastern perimeter across a gap of many meters before the safety of the trees. I tried vainly to see if I could catch a glimpse of either the Templars or my knights.

"What are we waiting for?" One of the women demanded this, panic causing her voice to pitch high, "We need to run!"

"If we run without looking we could run right into a Templar." I tried to reason and reassure her, "I have friends waiting for us in the trees. I'm just trying to spot them."

Then I could hear the shouts of Templars not far away and more screaming and sobbing of frightened children. There was no time for certainty. We had to run. I dashed forward with the little boy clinging to me in terror and the others followed. With every bound forward I prayed that we were not running into a Templar and that my knights were just ahead of us in the darkness, waiting to protect us. We were almost to the tree line when I heard the cry of someone falling and cast a look over my shoulder. The husband who had been carrying the old man had tripped and both were sprawled on the ground, the husband clutching his thigh. His wife gave a cry of despair as she frantically tried to pull her husband to his feet. I handed off the child to one of the other women, instructing, "Keep going. My friends are just beyond the trees. We will catch up," before running back to help. The wife and I managed to get her husband to his feet and supported him between us while the son helped the old man. A Templar clearing the village would only have to look towards the trees and we would be caught.

The husband, sensing this, pleaded with his wife, "Leave me! There is no time. If they see you it will be over. Perhaps I can draw their attention. If I fight I might be able to delay them and the rest of you can escape."

"Hush," I rasped, gritting my teeth, trying to will us to move faster so we would be concealed by the shadows of the trees. We had just managed to make it when the last huts at the Eastern edge of the village were set blazing. The fires began to roar and those still in the village were crying, but we were in the trees trying desperately to keep moving as I staggered under the injured man's weight.

I was just beginning to think we were safe when I heard a harsh voice order, "Halt, all of you, or face the Maker's wrath."

I turned to my right to see a Templar, his sword pointing directly at me. The grandmother, the grandchildren and the two women were nowhere to be seen, so I assumed that they had made it and were hiding in the brush. I eased myself out from under the man's right arm and raised my hands to communicate that I was harmless. Looking the Templar over I tried to examine him as Sellose had taught me to do, like he was an opponent. I had no sword, but if I rushed him perhaps I could knock him to the ground with a well-placed blow like Ser Grey had done earlier in the day when we sparred. If I could get him to the ground and slow him down the rest of the villagers might have a chance to escape. Rian, Sellose and Grey might come across them in the forest and help them to Herfirien. It was risky, but it could work.

I took a step toward the Templar but he barked, "Do not move! You will not charm me, apostates. I will not be fooled."

"We are not apostates," I spat at him through clenched teeth, "these are just frightened people."

"Ha! Apostates or no, you have been chosen by the Maker to serve your betters. You will enable us, the righteous, to continue the Maker's work and purify the world of the filth of the unworthy."

My jaw ached because I help it so tightly, holding in the words, the curses I longed to fling like stones, but I had to withstand the temptation. I just needed an opening. If he continued with his proselytizing I might be able to take advantage of it. I challenged him, "What do you know of worth or purity? You terrorize people in the name of righteousness, but in actuality you are merely a thug!"

"Blasphemer!" He thundered, "You dare mock those called by the Maker to cleanse the world?"

"If the Maker truly needs the world cleansed, he could find far better than you to carry it out! If you are so holy and I am so vile why does the Maker need you to strike me down? Can the Maker not dispense his own justice?"

The Templar's voice rose to a frenzy, "Wicked woman, it is because of those of your ilk that the Maker has turned from us. The mages from the Trevinter Imperium sullied the seat of our god, for like the apostates their pride blinded them to the truth of their unworthiness. They brought the taint of the darkspawn to our world, but now is the time to reclaim this land and burn it clean. This last Blight was a sign that we must destroy all who can spread this taint. Cast down the proud and raise up those unafraid to meet the Maker. If you will not be purified through service, you will be purified by the flame." With that he lowered his sword as if he would charge, but there was a heavy thud and he crumpled to the ground. Where he once stood there was Sellose holding a club made from the branch of a tree.

He glared at the prostrate Templar and nudged him with his foot before glancing at me, "I'm sorry for the delay. Are you hurt?"

The relief washed over me, but I refrained from throwing myself at him, "I'm fine but this man injured his leg trying to get here."

He nodded, "I know, we came across the three women with the children a little farther in. I had Grey and Forthwind stay with them while I came to fetch you. Come on, we need to get back to them and get underway before _this one_ and his other brethren awaken. Take my sword and take point." He then addressed the husband, "I'm sorry sir, but I will have to carry you on my back until we are well away from here."

I held the sword at the ready, guarding the rear, making sure no one followed us. Further into the woods we met with the rest of our party. Ser Grey nodded to me and requested, "Now that you have joined us, please lead the way. Try to avoid any other of those fanatics if possible."

We organized the group in a marching order, the children close to the middle with the women. I lead the way. Alan continued to carry the man on his back without complaint, staying closer to the rear with the son and the elderly man. Ser Grey and Rian flanked us on either side, keeping alert for any unwanted company. We headed northeast for a while through the darkness in hopes that the Templars would avoid trying to chase us down with three of their number injured and the rest having to escort the villagers from the now razed village.

When we finally stopped, it was near dawn and I could just see the pale light through the trees. Everyone was bone weary and we had to stop to rest. We found a small clearing and sat down in hopes of achieving some sleep. No one spoke, there was nothing to say.

Propped against the tree where I could observe and take account of all in our charge, I glanced at Rian. He took my bag that he had slung on his shoulder and gently handed it to me. I was even too tired to smile or thank him. I pulled out my cloak stowed within and held it close to me, running my hands over its folds, trying to calm myself by focusing on the familiar.

"Sleep Svenya," came Sellose's spent voice, startling me slightly, "we will keep watch here. All will be well. You can do no more today."

Now that I had been given permission I wrapped the cloak around my shoulders and breathed deeply its familiar scent. My sore eyes closed and for once I was too tired to even dream. Then again, what was there left to dream when my nightmares were apparently now too real.


	16. Interlude 5: Canticle of Betrayal

**Interlude 5: The Canticle of Betrayal**

_**The Chant of Light**_

_**Transcribed by Brother Dyfed**_

_**Both the wife of the Maker**_

_**and the wife of a mortal man,**_

_**balancing enlightened devotion**_

_**and soft fingered compassion,**_

_**encompassed in one woman.**_

_**In compassion for her husband**_

_**and a people lost in darkness**_

_**her golden voice interceded,**_

_**refusing to abandon them**_

_**though wooed by her god.**_

_**Her voice entranced the Maker,**_

_**but her purity of heart captured**_

_**the Maker's unswerving regard.**_

_**Only one was virtuous enough**_

_**to remain faithful to all**_

_**without being divided and lost.**_

_**It is not so with men**_

_**ruled by empty, darker passions.**_

_**Maferath, being a man**_

_**was divided by his pride**_

_**from our Maker's divinity.**_

_**A vain man settled for ruling land**_

_**rather than kneel before a god,**_

_**preferring tarnished currencies**_

_**to treasures of the spirit,**_

_**sneering at sharing men's esteem**_

_**with a woman beloved by the Maker.**_

_**Even betrayed, Andraste sang softly**_

_**upon the pyre of the ungodly, **_

_**seeking liberation not for herself,**_

_**pleading forgiveness for fallen men.**_


	17. Chapter 11: In the Eyes

**Chapter 11: In the Eyes**

**Alistair**

I started awake with the sun high in the sky and one of the children crying. Our new charges were in various postures of sleep, comforting one another and watching us warily. I glanced to the tree where Svenya had fallen asleep, but she was gone, though her effects and cloak had been left behind. Scanning among the faces I could see her nowhere. An elderly woman was rocking the young tike that had awoken me with his howling and I caught her eye.

"Did you see where my companion went?"

"The woman with the mask?" she inquired.

I nodded, "Yes. I don't see her here."

"She woke mayhap an hour ago," she explained, "Madoc, the man you had carried, was groaning again over his leg and the children were complaining of being hungry. She said something about finding herbs for a poultice that might soothe the injuries and locate some berries for the children. She headed farther east saying she heard water flowing, possibly a stream."

Ser Grey was rousing himself at that time and I informed him of Svenya's activities to which he groaned, "That woman will be the death of me, why can she never stay still?"

"Rian still slumbers," I explained, "can you manage things here on your own so I can follow her?"

"Yes, yes," he waved me off dismissively, "While you are out scouting for our wayward Bard, you might also see if you can locate some game. We have ten more in our party and no food to speak of."

"Yes, Ser Grey." I answered obediently.

With that I started to slip out of camp, trying to avoid waking anyone else when I was approached by the young man whose father I had carried, "Ser? Do you think the Templars are going to come after us?"

Realizing that he was worried, I tried to reassure him and sound more certain than I was, "No. If they were going to try and find us then I believe they would have by now."

"Where are we going to go?"

"We will be escorting all of you to the Chantry in Herfirien." When I spoke to him I looked him in the eyes. Arl Eamon taught me that you could trust a person who took time to look you in the eye and didn't just dismiss you or look past you to something else. He always did that with me. On the day he came to tell me that he was sending me to the Chantry he did that rather than send a servant or one of the other knights. It was many years before I understood how hard that must have been for him, to face me and tell me something that would hurt that much.

Once I was at the Chantry, I grew accustomed to people not looking at me. Some did it because they felt I was beneath them. Others did it because they just didn't have the time, feeling they had more important things to do and couldn't stop to speak to me directly.

I think that is why Duncan initially stood out to me when he arrived at the Chantry. The way he looked at things gave you the impression he took time to look at everything and consider all options before making a decision. When I finally got an opportunity to talk to him he listened carefully to my questions and answered as well as he was able. What was even more amazing to me is that he stopped to ask me questions and didn't just dismiss me immediately when I had exhausted all of my inquiries. That always stayed with me. Now here I was faced with a young man, roughly about the same age as I had been and I couldn't just brush past him.

"What is your name?" I asked the boy.

Looking at me with a mixture of confusion and pride, he answered, "My name is Mabon, Ser."

"Mabon," I started, "You can call me…Ser Sellose."

"So, you _are_ a knight?"

I nodded, "Yes. We're all knights."

"Even the woman with the mask?" he asked.

I smiled with that and wondered how Svenya would feel about that question, "No. She is a bard."

"Toreth said that she is scarred. She saw her face." The boy explained, "I thought maybe she had been scarred in battle."

That piece of information startled me and I promised myself that I would discuss it with her, but I didn't want to readily admit to the boy that I knew as much about it as he did, "She is a strong woman."

"You are not from these mountains, are you?" the boy observed. "The masked bard seems to know about the Templars, but you do not know about them. Where are you from?"

"We come from Redcliffe."

"I do not know that place. Is it far from here?"

"It is south of these mountains. We have been travelling for a number of weeks."

"You come from so far away," the boy gasped, "Why did you stop to help us? Who are we to you?"

Looking in Mabon's face, I knew the truth, "We helped because it is our responsibility and our honor to help you. A man I greatly admire once told me, `Nobility does not exist without obligation. We owe all we have, even our lives, to our land and our people.' I choose to follow that maxim." After I said it part of me inwardly cringed and wondered how Arl Eamon would feel about me quoting him.

The boy was perplexed, "But we aren't noble. We are just village folk."

"Listen," I encouraged, "you do not have to be born to an arl or a teyrn to be noble. Regardless of what anyone says, being a noble deals with what lies within a person and performing just actions. I have known people who did not hale from royal blood but were far more noble in their actions than any from a noble line."

"Thank you, Ser," the young man stood a little straighter.

Then I heard Ser Grey pointedly call, "Are you going to find Svenya, Ser Sellose, or should I wake Ser Forthwind to fulfill that charge?"

"Yes, Ser," I concurred before turning back to Mabon, "Check with our commander, Ser Grey. See if he needs any assistance and try to help to keep everyone calm and comfortable."

"I will, Ser Sellose," replied Mabon, nodding enthusiastically before rushing off to fulfill my request.

With that I headed where I had been directed by the elderly woman. After only a few moments I could hear trickling water and continued to head towards the sound. The air was crisp, with a touch of chill and it occurred to me that winter was coming. These people had lost their homes as well as their food stores. It reminded me of the refugees I had seen after the Blight had reached Lothering. These Templars were almost as bad as the darkspawn had been. What made them worse, in a way, was the fact that they were not mindless like the darkspawn. They were completely aware of their actions and chose to carry out these shameful actions against these defenseless people.

Suddenly I thought I heard someone humming a tune. On the other side of a briar bush I found Svenya carefully picking small brown berries from stalks close to the ground and placing them on a clean cloth. I walked carefully so I would avoid startling her and I had no desire to cause her to stop humming the pleasant tune.

"Did you sleep well, Sellose?" she asked without looking up, abruptly ceasing her humming.

Sighing, I inquired, "How did you know it was me?"

She turned her head to look up at me, "The sound of your steps."

"My steps?"

"In the time I have been travelling with the three of you, I have observed that each of you has a very distinct sounding tread when you walk. Ser Grey's footsteps are very heavy and solid – more marshal if you will, as if he always marches. Rian has a lighter walk, probably because he has very little weighing him down in his spirit. Yours, however, falls somewhere between the two. Your footsteps sound…more thoughtful, perhaps? You seem to consider every step, in a way. They are still solid, strong steps, but not exactly heavy like Ser Grey." She explained this while she continued to pick berries, amassing quite a mound.

I motioned to the berries that she had gathered already, perplexed by the fact that they were brown. I was more accustomed to red or dark blue berries, like the ones I used to hunt in the hills surrounding Redcliffe, "What are these things?"

"They are called knoutberries, though I've heard some call them cloudberries. I have not seen them grow anywhere else in Ferelden but these mountains. I'm a little surprised that I am still able to find them at this point of the season. These would normally be long past ripe."

I picked one up and asked, "May I?"

"By all means."

Taking the small berry into my mouth, I was slightly surprised by the taste. It seemed queerly tart and I could feel the seeds in my teeth, but after a moment the sweetness came through. "That was different," I observed.

She chuckled with that, "You aren't used to them. Bruna used to make jam with them and others make wine from them. The wine is particularly sweet, but it is quite dear. Only those with enough coin tend to drink it."

I squatted down next to her and began to assist with the berry picking, though I wasn't particularly sure how well we would bring them back to the camp in a flimsy cloth. "I wish I had my helmet. It would make transporting these easier."

"Really?" she almost choked with laughter, "Some men would find that bordering on the sacrilegious."

"Like the Templars?" I contended, frowning slightly.

The statement sobered her considerably and she nodded, "I suppose. That would be if you considered them to be men."

"I might be hard pressed to do so." I concurred.

She sighed, "I'm sorry I did not mention them before all this had happened. I had hoped that either things had changed in the eight years since I was last here or that we would not come into contact with them. I lived near Lothering long enough to be aware that most Templars in Ferelden work under different expectations."

"You mentioned last night that you had witnessed them clearing out villages twice. Did you live in one of those villages?"

"No." she answered firmly, "the first time was when Bruna and I were hunting herbs. It was not far from an Avvarian village. We were just starting to head home when we heard the screaming and smelled the smoke. We looked toward the village and saw the Templars clearing out the people and burning their homes. A number of the men fought back and they were all killed. They couldn't fight men with that kind of armor. We kept hidden because we were afraid they would find us, assume we were part of the village and take us with them. The second time was...later."

"Why does the Chantry allow it?" I demanded.

She shrugged, "For many years we had no Templars in these mountains, though the main arlings have Chantries. There had never really been a concern over apostates or mages. There were some in the Avvarian villages that might have been characterized as thus, but they were no threat and the Chantries didn't worry about them as they were more concerned with sharing the Chant of Light and ministering to the poor. It was only around the time I was ten years of age that the first Templars came to these mountains. They have a stronghold in Swidden, the farthest northern arling here in the Cauldron. Within a couple of years the Chantry was forced out of Swidden."

"Forced out?" I broke in. I couldn't believe it. "The Chantry controls the Templars. It is like their own personal army. You can't have Templars without a Chantry."

She shook her head, "Here the Chantry doesn't control the Templars. The best I can tell is that here, the Chantry fears them."

"The main body of the Chantry in Ferelden would have found out about this. They would have intervened."

She started to speak more slowly, perhaps hoping that her words would sink into my brain more efficiently, "The Cauldron is very isolated. There is the one main pass to get here and its treacherous to cross during the warmer months. During the winter it is near impossible. Do you think those men would allow any type of correspondence to leave here that would reveal what they are doing to the rest of the Chantry?"

_So we have a small army of men who are not controlled by a governing body. Wonderful!_ I inwardly groaned, when something occurred to me, "If they are not controlled by the Chantry, where do they get their lyrium?"

"Lyrium?" she echoed, "Why would they need lyrium? I thought lyrium was used by mages?"

"Templars are given lyrium by the Chantry to help strengthen their talents. Over time the Templars become addicted to it. The Chantry controls the lyrium trade so that Templars can only get their lyrium through the Chantry and, as a result, the Chantry controls the Templars."

"Are you addicted to lyrium?" she interjected, looking confused.

I shook my head, "No. I was only an initiate and I left before becoming a full Templar."

"But you know how to fight as a Templar."

"Yes, but any initiate would."

She looked thoughtful a moment before hinting, "If initiates have been trained and then leave before they become full Templars, could they possibly pass themselves off as full Templars. Could they have come here under the guise of being Templars but are not full Templars."

"Not likely," I scoffed, "The Chantry doesn't allow trained initiates leave. If you have been trained you become a Templar."

"But you just said you didn't become a Templar and you were an initiate," she remonstrated, very agitated.

"It was an unusual circumstance."

"Fine," Svenya acquiesced, though she seemed suspicious, "Is there no other way for a Templar to get lyrium other than the Chantry?"

Thinking about it for a moment I conceded, "There is a black market for lyrium. Some dwarves smuggle out lyrium and secretly sell it to contacts outside of Orzimmar. If they have the right contacts they could conceivably obtain it without the Chantry."

"The term `black market' implies that it would be expensive. How would they finance it?"

That was definitely an issue. They would be unable to maintain their supplies, particularly lyrium, without an allowance from the Chantry. Unless… "You said they work from of Swidden and forced the Chantry out. Could the arl of Swidden be their patron?"

She looked grim, "Boese would be a plausible patron, but there is another possibility."

"Such as?"

"Do you recall that I spoke of `penance'?"

"Yes, you referred to it as `purification by labor.'"

"You have seen that they capture and transport entire villages. I have never really known where these people go, other than they take them to their compound to perform penance. I don't think I have ever heard of any individuals performing penance being permitted to leave that stronghold. Last night, though, the elderly woman with her grandchildren said that they could be sent to work in mines. Could they be mining precious metals or something to finance their work? Or perhaps they found a way to sell these people as slaves?"

"Where would they sell what they mined or these people, for that matter?" it sounded unlikely, but I wasn't ruling it out.

She gestured to the air around her, "This is not far from Orlais. If they had a route north they could trade there."

I sighed, "We have theories, but no clear answers. However you look at it, this is a bad situation. I had no idea how bad it would be here."

"Will this affect your mission? You are trying to create an alliance between these arlings and Redcliffe. If Arl Boese is a patron of these Templars would you want to pursue an alliance?"

Looking her in the eye I intoned, "Regardless of what happens with these possible alliances, something must be done to stop these Templars. This has gone on long enough."

It was her turn to sigh, "It is admirable to think that you can do something about this, Ser Sellose, but you are one knight. Even with Rian supporting you and if you return to Redcliffe, what makes you think that Arl Eamon will act on it? He might tell the king, but even then there is no guarantee that he will take action. We are so removed from the rest of Ferelden, why wouldn't he ignore what occurs here in order to address situations closer to him in Denerim?"

"First of all, the Chantry would act on this even if the king did not. They would send a detail of Templars to oust these louts and then reestablish the Chantries. Second of all, if the _king_ knows about this he will act to make sure it is put right." I asserted this, feeling the truth of it burn into my soul.

"It would be pretty to think so." Svenya frowned, indicating that she didn't believe me.

"I swear this will be so." I vowed solemnly. I can't even imagine how I looked, kneeling next to her, placing a berry stained hand over my heart.

"Do not swear and eat it. You are a man sworn to men with power. You cannot control them, you can only control your own actions." She retorted, obviously not impressed. Then she stopped when something occurred to her, "You and Rian will not be accused of insubordination will you? Ser Grey did not agree with you trying to rescue the villagers."

Softening with that, I smiled, "No. We certainly will not be accused of insubordination. It was my call."

"But Ser Grey is your commander. I realize he would take the situation into consideration, but he would probably still be within his rights to report it to your arl when you return to Redcliffe."

It was endearing how concerned she was for us. The dark eyes peering through the slits of her mask were genuinely troubled and it was important to me to reassure her, "Do not be worried. Even if Ser Grey reports this to Arl Eamon, Rian and I will not face any punishment." I paused, took a breath and continued, "It is important that you know…"

"Where is that bard?" howled an all too familiar voice from the direction of the camp, "We have starved people and an injured man who needs a poulitice."

Feeling my mouth press into a tight line, I jumped to my feet, fuming, "Damn that man!"

"Regardless of how certain you are that you will not be reprimanded for your actions, it is probably better not to antagonize him. This situation would try a Chantry sister." She soothed with some mild chuckling.

"You do not consider how much he tries me!" I asserted as I watched her approach a nearby bramble bush and pulled away a branch, revealing two cunningly snared rabbits. Startled I questioned, "When did you do that?"

"Shortly before I started picking berries," she answered with a grin, "Bruna and I did not merely hunt berries and herbs in these woods. Since we do not have a helmet could you carefully carry the berries in the cloth. We will spit the rabbit and eat before we break camp. If we travel west steadily we should be able to reach Herfirien by midday tomorrow with minimal stops. It is vital that we start soon, however we will not get very far if we do not feed people. Berries are all well and good, but a mouthful of meat carries you farther."

"I still need to tell you something." I insisted, refusing to be distracted again.

She looked thoughtful for a moment before resuming, "I'm sure it will keep. These people will not. There are more pressing matters to contend with our attention. Tomorrow when we reach Herfirien, if you still feel that you need to speak your peace, then we can continue this conversation. "

The truth that was eating away at me made my heart twinge, but I knew she was also correct. This information had the potential to greatly upset her and should not be thrown at her when there were so many other obstacles facing us. Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply and concurred, "If that is what you wish, but tomorrow we need to talk."

She nodded and carried the rabbits towards the camp while I clumsily gathered up the berries we had picked and followed at her heels, promising myself that I would tell her the truth tomorrow.


	18. Chapter 12: Well Met

**Chapter 12: Well Met**

**Svenya**

As foretold, we reached Herfirien the following day. We went directly to the Chantry to deliver our charges into their hands. The Revered Mother received us and immediately asked, "Was it another animal attack?"

"No, it was a Templar winnowing." I explained grimly, startled by her previous assumption, though recalling the wolf attack we had experienced I should not have been.

"There have been numerous instances of animal attacks. The wolves and the bears have not been behaving normally for this time of year. Bears in particular do not wander far from where they make their winter rest and are busy filling their bellies with berries. Even with the increased number of attacks, these animals are more likely to attack the remoter villages, though, and leave the larger freeholds alone. A rather large bear was stalking the outskirts of Herfirien a week ago, but that is the closest we have been to seeing such behavior directly. The guards managed to chase it off. Thank the Maker it was only one." She confessed, before continuing, looking even more troubled, "The Templars however…this is unusually far south in the Cauldron for them, they mainly focus their endeavors farther north. I should not be surprised considering that the Chantry in Cloughbark is now gone. They are spreading their nets farther afield."

It felt like someone had struck a blow into my gut, "The Templars have forced the Chantry out of Cloughbark?"

"I fear so," she lamented, "it has been nearly a year. We took in the remaining Sisters, though a number disappeared around the same time. We are trying to meet the needs of our flock, but we are receiving people from all over the Cauldron. Arl Auber has been supportive both financially and with the assistance of his guards, but we can't continue with this level of strain. He assures me that he will not allow the Templars within Herfirien, but I do not know how he will withstand the pressure placed upon him by _both _Arl Crewe and Arl Boese." She paused momentarily, before continuing, "How did so many manage to escape? If any escape a winnowing it is usually one or two at best."

"We were able to assist them and secretly subdue some of the Templars." Ser Sellose explained, though I could tell it weighed on him that we were not able to help more of the villagers.

"Bless you, you have truly done the Maker's work." The Reverend Mother was obviously grateful for what we managed to accomplish, "However, I am concerned for your wellbeing. Did the Templars see you? Would they be able to trace you back here?"

Those questions gave me pause. Sellose, Rian and Grey's back assaults would have prevented them from being seen directly by the Templars they knocked unconscious, but the Templar that had waylaid me and sermonized at me had an apt opportunity to examine me. The mask conceals my face, but the fact I always wear it makes it distinct. The Templars would be looking for me if they had a reasonable description from their fallen brother. This did not bode well for my plans to continue on to Cloughbark, and the fact that there was no longer a Chantry cancelled out the possibility of finding sanctuary in that immediate vicinity if I desperately needed it. All possible safety had been removed from my plans.

The Revered Mother bestowed a final blessing upon us and recommended that we go immediately to Arl Auber to inform him of what transpired. He would be very interested to discover that the Templars were straying within his vicinity. We took our leave of the villagers that we had assisted and the elderly woman, whose name was Toreth, took me quietly aside.

"I am sorry that I did not trust you when you first came to our hut." She penitently whispered, gesturing to my mask, "You should not have had to show me your face, but at least I know who you are now."

"What?" I quavered.

"Bruna has visited our village looking for herbs and helped to heal the occasional injury. She still speaks of you." The woman confided this gently, resting her hand on my shoulder.

I was suddenly filled with urgency and a slight twinge of disbelief, "Where is she? Does she still live?"

The woman smiled and nodded, "Yes. She is a member of Arl Auber's household and runs his kitchen. She will be most happy to see you."

"Thank you," I breathed.

"You thank me when I owe you a far greater debt than I can repay," she smiled gratefully. "You not only saved me, you saved my grandchildren and brought us here where we will be safe. I will never forget you until the day my eyes close for the last time. May Andraste guide your steps."

I hugged her a moment and wiped away the tears that sprang unbidden to my eyes before I rejoined the knights. We said our farewells to the others and made haste to the gates of Arl Auber's estate. The guards at the door looked careworn, but discharged their duty with devotion.

"What is your business?" the one on the right asked.

Ser Grey stepped forward and announced, "We request an audience with Arl Auber. We are knights from Redcliffe, on a mission of utmost importance."

The guards looked us over with incredulity and it was apparent what was causing them pause. The three knights had no armor, their clothes were a dingy, sodden mess and, as I had teased Ser Sellose on a number of occasions, they reeked. They did not have any of the trappings expected of knights, they probably more closely resembled the mercenaries that had purloined their equipment. Any identifying items that they possessed were long gone. Ser Grey, probably coming to the same conclusion as I, appeared to be visibly crestfallen and cleared his throat edgily. I stepped forward and pulled a small wrapped package from my effects, handing it to the guard on the right, "Bring this to Arl Auber and explain that it is of the utmost importance that these knights speak with him."

The knight looked at me quizzically for a moment, but ran off to do as I requested. The other guard waited and I asked him, "Does Bruna still work in the kitchens?"

"Of course," the knight nodded pleasantly, "she is probably the best cook in the Cauldron."

"Would it be possible to be allowed to go to the kitchens? She and I are old friends."

The guard looked troubled and apologized, "I'm sorry, but we are not permitted to let anyone on the grounds unless we have received leave by the arl."

I nodded, not particularly surprised, "Thank you anyway. It is comforting to know that there are some who remain faithful to their charge." The man stood a little straighter and grinned, pleased at being recognized.

I turned to the knights, who looked vaguely startled by the turn of events and Ser Grey hissed, "What did you give to the guard?"

"I have some tools of influence at my disposal." I smiled, before adding, "At this moment, I have recalled some vital arrangements I must see to while here in Herfirien. I will return shortly."

"Do you want one of us to accompany you?" Ser Rian prodded, ready to accompany me. His injury had healed considerably and he was able to walk now with only a mild limp.

Shaking my head, I professed, "I have to meet with a contact and it would be easier if I go alone. There is no need to be concerned."

"Let her go," Ser Grey insisted, "I am certain she will return to us as soon as her business is concluded. I doubt she will get lost."

"Just so, Ser Lion, just so." I laughed, "In truth, I should be more concerned about leaving the three of you unattended. Please try and avoid any further disasters for the time being."

Ser Grey _"harrumphed"_ but Sellose and Rian chuckled good naturedly. I waved to them as I headed up the street and around the bend of the estate walls.

Once I was no longer in their sight I carefully walked along the estate walls towards the back of the stronghold. Of course the walls were solid and tall, near impossible for an intruder to scale the smooth surfaces that offered no handholds. Arl Auber unfortunately underestimated the trees surrounding the walls. They had long since grown taller and their branches tangled with the other trees in the garden on the other side. One tree in particular, a near ancient hazel tree that had grown unusually large, had weathered the years very well, remaining very strong and as sturdy as I remembered it.

Carefully climbing into its crook, I was able to look over the edge of the wall and survey the garden. As I remembered, the grounds were still well kept with a sizable garden and a pleasant, cobbled walkway for people to stroll on. There was one guard that surveyed the grounds, walking leisurely about his duties and appeared at regular, lengthy intervals. When I felt confident with my estimates his appearances, I clambered over the wall and leapt into a snowy birch tree on the other side. With a graceful swing, the birch gently lowered me to the ground under the pressure of my weight.

From there it was easy to locate the kitchen door located near the vegetable patches which provided a substantial amount of produce used by the household. This door was never guarded unlike the main entrance and the servants' entrance. Testing the latch, the door was revealed to be unlocked. I "_tutted"_ slightly to myself and wondered how angry the arl would be if he were at all aware of how easily I entered the estate. Once inside the door I stood still a moment and allowed my eyes to adjust to the dimness that was in contrast to the outer sunlight I was accustomed to. The earthy smells of root vegetables mixed with the wafting scent of wood smoke from the kitchen fireplace and boiling stew. At the center of it all I could make out the sound of light singing from the main kitchen.

I crept quietly into the familiar surroundings of the estate kitchens. Bruna's silhouette in the firelight while she worked at one of the tables was easily discernable. She sang absently to herself while peeling stalks from a fiberous plant that she was likely preparing to use in a folk remedy. In my memory she had always been sharp of ear, so I was surprised that she took no notice of my entrance until: "_If you boys are sneaking in here to steal some more apples, you had better be wary._ If you eat too many green ones I do not want to be called to make you a tonic for that stomach ache you are sure to have."

I smiled to myself. She was an immutable force, destined to never change. I walked up quietly behind her as she continued, "Not here for apples then? I'm sorry but I have no raisin bread made, but I will be making some loaves in a few days when we get that rainstorm I am expecting." Then she muttered more as an afterthought, "Baking always turns out better during a storm."

At that moment I reached around her and placed my hands over her eyes. She sighed to herself as she put down her knife and the stalk. "Well, aren't you playful? Let me guess,...hm...it must be Brioc." She then reached up and touched my hands, "Wait…your hands are too large for one of the boys…" she gently ran her fingers over my knuckles, over the backs of my hands and paused when she touched an old, distinct scar on the back of my right wrist. Her breath caught in a gasp as she forcibly pulled my hands from her face and turned to look at me.

She continued to clasp my hands as she breathed, "I know those eyes." In my haste to see Bruna I had forgotten about my mask. With that I took back my hands and gently untied the leather thongs that held it in place. Without being invited, she snatched the mask back to get a better look at me, her eyes wide and welling to the brim before she bolted to her feet and embraced me.

"We had heard so many tales of the darkspawn in the south with the Blight. They thought you had probably died. I could not believe that. I always had hope." She stood back again, her hands in an iron grip on my shoulders as she maneuvered me so the light bathed my face more fully. She hungrily searched my face, memorizing anything she did not remember from before, "I had been certain that I had felt you approach in my dreams for weeks now. Part of me feared it was vain to hope that the dreams were true."

I couldn't swallow or speak around the prickly ball that was suddenly trapped in my throat. After so long I just let the tears come and allowed Bruna to hug me close. It had been many years since I had someone to cry with. I cried until I could not stand it any longer then began to giggle hysterically, unable to come to rights within my own mind. I pulled back, chuckling, "So, still spoiling page boys I see."

She grinned, "I have to spoil someone. They are all good boys. Slightly mischievous at times, but I do not mind." She gestured for me to sit down in the chair opposite hers.

"I am slightly surprised to find you here. I thought you might return to the Avvarians and put some distance between yourself and the Templars."

She shook her head, "First, I have been employed in an arl's household for so long that I am not sure I could ever really return to the ways of my people. Besides, I am no pagan. I need to be near a Chantry where I can hear the Chant of Light intoned by an eloquent sister."

"I understand."

"Also," she proceeded, "this is where you brought me. The arl, I think as a kindness to you, made a place for me here and I have given him no reason to regret it. Whenever he has headaches I make him my special tea and he does not second guess my methods. The Templars dare not come here. The arl claims there will be blood first and he will be the one drawing it."

"That is reassuring."

"Arl Crewe did come here in search of you shortly after you left, but not finding you here he did not bother with me. I was no use to him at that point. Persecuting me and threatening to turn me over to the Templars had been a means to an end, as you had already assumed. Even if he had considered disturbing my peace, the arl had granted me sanctuary here and to overstep his boundaries would cause more unpleasantness than he can abide."

"I am so sorry, Bruna. I never meant to cause you such difficulties." I apologized, the tears welling up again as she gently took my hand and squeezed.

"No, my swan," she implored, "you saved me. Eventually if I stayed in Cloughbark the Templars would have found and taken me."

"I heard that the Chantry is gone." I sighed.

She shook her head and continued, "You always did what you thought was right."

"Have you heard from Murchad?" This was a question I was most anxious about. As my twin brother, he was the other individual that would have been a recipient of the wrath I had stirred up with my abrupt departure.

She explained, "He is the reason I made the attempt to contact you at all with a letter. He managed to slip away from Cloughbark a few months ago to come and see me. He had hoped to get some medicinal tea that would help Arless Ayleth, but Arl Crewe will not allow me to come and see her or try to help in any way."

"Then it is true? She could be dying?"

"It is hard for me to say, not being able to examine her for myself. Though I can tell she is ill from what little connection I can make with her. It is possible that it could go beyond what is physical, but I cannot make that journey from here."

This worried me, if Bruna was saying the situation was dire and Murchad had risked coming to her, then I knew it was bad. I closed my eyes and took a number of deep breaths. This was the reason I had risked this journey, so I would know. The letter that Bruna had managed to have smuggled over the pass and on to Lothering was nebulous at best, using code words so none would suspect what she spoke of or who she spoke to.

"How did you know where to find me?" I inquired, "How would you even know if the letter would find me?"

"A trader had spoken of seeing a masked woman about your height and age in Amaranthine. I thought it might be possible you would have travelled there if things were bad in Lothering with the Blight. There was nothing to lose in trying." She studied me a moment, "When last you dared write to me, you had mentioned a husband and bairn."

I shook my head sadly, "Both gone…dead."

"Oh Mae…"

"No," I corrected her, "not Mae. I use Svenya and my husband's name was Gand. That is the name I go by."

"That is no surprise. You always favored that story as a little girl." She squeezed my hand again, "But I am truly sorry for your pain."

"Many lost family in the Blight. Loss is not unusual." I smiled mirthlessly, "One grows accustomed to it over time."

"We were not as badly savaged by darkspawn here. Their attention was directed elsewhere, as I heard. They destroyed the capital city, didn't they?"

"Yes," I confirmed, "and anything living and beautiful lying en route to it. The archdemon was defeated at Fort Drakon by a single Gray Warden and a small squad of men, as I heard tell. Things have recovered slowly since, but time mends. Is that not what you used to say?"

"Aye." She agreed, "How long have you been travelling? When did you leave the south?"

"Weeks ago," I cringed, "I met with a number of minor delays."

She crossed her arms and leaned back with one brow crooked slightly, "Mistake it not, there is a story here to be told."

Smiling I began to explain when suddenly the door of the kitchen crashed open. In the doorway stood another familiar figure, arms crossed and casting me a stern look. I got to my feet, inclining my head slightly as a sign of respect.

He was older than when I had last seen him, with more gray hair peppering his dark brown locks at the temples. The tunic was a dark green color, corresponding with the colors in his coat-of-arms. His broad shoulders seemed to fill the doorway, casting his shadow far upon the kitchen floor, "Perhaps I should be flattered that you informed me of your presence at all, though I would have preferred you to have used the front entrance rather than the back door like a thief or a beggar. At least I knew where to find you as soon as I discovered you were here."

Thinking better of making poor excuses, I settled on stating, "Well met, Uncle."


	19. Interlude 6: The Mountain Goat's Horns

**Interlude 6: The Mountain Goat's Horns**

**Avvarian Folktale**

Before men settled the Cauldron, the gods gave the valleys to the animals to care for and maintain. Korth the Mountain-Father and the Lady of the Skies, after much debate, settled on three animals as high stewards and caretakers of the land: Bodguan the Boar, Rioc the Fox and Iusti the Mountain Goat. For many years they lived together in harmony, using their strengths to better serve their home.

The boar was strong and ate both meat and plants, enabling it to continue living if there was no game for it to hunt. The fox was cunning and small; he used his gifts to enable him to travel places that larger animals found difficult to navigate. The mountain goat was sure footed and could survive in the mountains without fear of falling and eat the moss on the high peaks if plants grew sparse in the valleys. They lived together in harmony for many years until a wolf entered the valley and took up residence.

The game was plentiful, so the wolf had no concerns about going hungry, but was greedy and proud and did not like settling for mice and rabbits. He hungered after Iusti, the mountain goat, who was large and richly flavored from eating moss and mountain grass. Watching him from a distance, the wolf tried to devise a plan to catch and devour Iusti. Iusti, however, never let himself come within the wolf's reach. He was ever vigilant and if the wolf came anywhere near him, Iusti would walk into the mountains and crags where the wolf could not reach.

Seeing no other alternative, the wolf decided to turn the other two stewards against Iusti and use them to catch him.

First the wolf went to Rioc, the fox, and said, "Hello wise, little cousin. How goes your great work?"

"I am not your cousin. Flattery will not work on me," said the fox, for he was clever and could see that the wolf was merely complimenting him in order to receive favors, "What have you really come to say?"

The wolf, seeing that Rioc would not be tricked, sighed and answered honestly, "I have an issue with Iusti. He has become big and juicy and I want to devour him."

"Then why don't you try to catch him and eat him?" asked Rioc.

"I would," the wolf explained, "but he is too smart and escapes by staying in crags that I cannot reach."

The old fox, his muzzle graying with age and his whiskers twitching, inquired, "Why come to me? What can I do to help you?"

"You are the smartest of the three, though you are small. You also can appreciate the taste of blood and the call of meat, but like me are limited to moles and mice. If you were to help me, not only would you get a share of the meat, but by eating Iusti you can retain some of his power. I could take Iusti's place as a high steward and defer to you in all decisions." The wolf pleaded his case before the fox.

Now Rioc had grown greedy for power and had considered trying to find a way to rid himself of Iusti so that he could take over. The wolf offered an opportunity to make his desires come to fruition, but Rioc did not want to share with the wolf either. He thought carefully before stating, "If I help you, you will also have to help me rid myself of Brodguan, the boar. He is also large and would make a delicious meal for us to share. He only thinks with his muscles, he often sleeps and is easily persuaded. We can convince him to help us and if our plan does not work then we can blame him."

"Ah," said the wolf, his eyes gleaming, "so not one meal but two, you are indeed the most cunning in the Cauldron."

Rioc and the wolf approached Brodguan, flattering him with words like, "Strong friend, you are the greatest among the three. Iusti insults you behind your back and we wanted to inform you so that you would not continue to lose face. You must find a way to regain your honor and destroy the mountain goat."

"How dare he impugn my honor!" fumed the boar, pawing the ground impatiently. "I shall send him a challenge which he must face or be known as a coward and unfit for his charge."

Brodguan sent a falcon to bring Iusti his challenge on the mountain top where he lived. From his height, Iusti could see what was transpiring and knew that the boar was being fooled by the fox and the wolf. He harbored no ill will against the boar, so he ignored the challenge and stayed on his mountain, knowing that those who intended to do him harm to not reach him there. The boar, seeing that he was being ignored, continued to grow angrier and angrier. The fox and the wolf, seeing that Iusti would not be baited by a mere trick conspired to find a way to lure him off of the mountain.

"He refuses to grant you satisfaction," observed Rioc to Brodguan, while the wolf sat by and listened, "so you must force him to act and confront you."

The boar listened to the fox, asking, "He cares not what I say about his honor, how else can I force him to act?"

"You must attack his people. When he sees their suffering he will come to you and plead for them. Then you can exact your revenge upon him." The fox assured Brodguan.

Taking Rioc's advice, Brodguan began attacking and killing all of the animals and plants that Iusti was supposed to protect. The fox and wolf, in turn, devoured all of the victims once Brodguan had performed the executions, making the pair very fat and content. The mountain goat was very distressed to see that the boar was harming all that he loved, he wept bitterly.

Iusti's wife came to him and inquired, "Husband, why do you weep?"

"My people are suffering, but if I go to their defense, Brodguan will kill me and Rioc and the wolf will gnaw my bones." Iusti moaned.

"Seek the Mountain-Father and the Lady of the Skies," suggested his wife, "they gave you your position and would be as grieved as you to see the evil this three have committed against their creation."

"If I leave," Iusti explained, "then they will continue to ravage the land and the suffering will spread. I must intervene. I was sworn to care for the creations within this valley. I will send word that within three days I will go down the mountain and surrender to them."

With that, Iusti sent a dove down to the three, informing them of his decision, provided they promise to leave those Iusti was protecting alone. The three laughed with glee and jigged. They agreed to avoid killing any more of the animals, provided Iusti kept his part of the bargain.

Iusti's wife was distressed and decided to take matters upon her. She set out that day to the greatest mountain towering above the range in order to find the Mountain-Father and beg him for his aid. Like her husband, Iusti's wife had sure feet and was very careful where she walked, her fear for Iusti making her move fast from crag to crag so that she could reach her destination before it was too late.

On reaching the top of the mountain, Iusti's wife walked into a hall made of marble and onyx. Within the hall the Mountain-Father kept court and peered down at her from his perch on his magnificent throne. He smiled and welcomed her, for he could tell she was humble of heart and had risked much in order to reach him. She fell to her knees before the Mountain-Father and entreated him, "Father of my home, Master of the Mountains, please give me justice. Evil beings plot against my husband's life, destroying all he loves to goad him to fight. He loves peace, but to defend what he loves and fulfill his vows to you, he will risk his life."

The Mountain-Father thought long and hard, before leaving her to walk to his anvil, since he was also the god of smiths. He smelt and hammered until the wee hours of the morning before producing what he desired and placing it before the wife. Before her was a beautiful crown made of two curling horns.

"Such a faithful leader should wear a crown." The Mountain-Father cannonaded, "Bring this to your husband to wear before he goes before those that wish him harm. They will recognize that this symbolizes _my_ favor for him and they will withdraw their threats of violence. If they do not, then this will defend him and make him feared among them."

"Would it not be easier to merely remove the threat?" asked the wife.

The Mountain-Father shook his head and rumbled, "Balance must be maintained. The three must work together. If I were to replace them, in time you might consider their replacements far more tyrannous. If this continues, I will intercede, but attempt to enforce peace among yourselves first."

Iusti's wife bowed reverently to the Mountain-Father before picking up the crown and returning with haste to her husband. He was about to depart for the bottom of the mountain when she arrived, crowning him with the gift from the Mountain-Father. With the crown upon his head, the mountain goat was more confident and held his head high as he strode over the rocks and crags to where his three adversaries awaited him at the foot of the mountain.

On seeing his crown, Brodguan lowered his head and Iusti addressed him, "You have wrongly accused me and, in an attempt to goad me to fight, you have blindly attacked innocent creatures. The Mountain-Father, as proof of my honor, has bestowed this crown on me. Since you have acted as a result of guile and not as a result of true malice, I will forgive you for your crimes against my people provided you make amends. You will pay blood price for all that you have destroyed until the debt is paid."

Brodguan readily agreed to the terms and ran off in shame to begin paying back his debt for the damages.

The wolf, furious at being thwarted and seeing Iusti within reach, disregarded Iusti's crown and attacked him. Iusti lowered his head in anger and deflected the wolf's attempted attack easily, throwing the wolf back. The wolf lost his balance, fell over the side of a large rock and was killed by the fall.

Iusti then turned on the fox, Rioc, who cowered in fear, "You thought to displace me to elevate yourself. From here on none will trust your word. Everyone will call you `trickster' and `liar.' You have brought eternal shame to your family. I will spare your life for there is no greater punishment than the loss than the death of your honor. Now return to your duties and never interfere with me again."

The fox slunk away and from that day onward his reputation never recovered. His children and his children's children are all marked and reviled for their cunning. No one would ever trust a fox again.

The horned crown that the Mountain-Father bestowed on Iusti was also bestowed upon his children and, until the end of time, all mountain goats possess majestic horns crowning their noble brows.


	20. Chapter 13: The Mountain Goat Crest

**Chapter 13: The Mountain Goat Crest**

**Alistair**

Shortly after Svenya disappeared from view, the guard returned and formally announced, "Arl Auber will grant you an audience. Follow me, please." He escorted us from the outer gate toward the mansion. The mansion itself was magnificent, much different than the estates I had seen in Denerim or Redcliffe. The roofs were much steeper in their slants and were made from a bright red metal instead of regular shingles. The windows were shuttered with red shutters. The main door was sizeable, made of a dark wood and carved from top to bottom were a series of scenes – pictures of animals, trees and mountains. At the very center of the door, surrounded by all the other scenes was a carving of a majestic ram with intricately curled horns. The door itself had been heavily polished, probably to protect it from decaying from water and weather, so there was a slight sheen. I had seen similar doors on chantries with carvings depicting the life of Andraste, but they were paltry compared to the craftsmanship of this door.

The door slowly swung open and we were met by another man wearing an interesting uniform, not as heavily armed as the guards, but still armed, which was unusual for servants in other parts of Denerim. He carried a scabbard made of leather inscribed with curling knot-work swirls that seemed to coalesce into the shape of another ram, it startled me. The tunic was a dark evergreen with some silver accents in the buttons and thin trailing stitching in curved loops that reminded me of some of the quilts I had seen on the beds at the palace, indicating that it was thicker than the average tunic. The guard indicated that we should follow this servant so that he could return to his post and we dutifully complied.

We followed in silence down the hall and past a wide stair to what I assumed was a study; ithin an older man sat, maybe not as old as Arl Eamon or Ser Grey, but still older than I. He was sitting at a desk reminiscent of the front door in that it was made of the same, dark polished wood and had some carving, but it was not nearly as ornate. The walls were lined with bookshelves, constructed from the same dark wood and the one large window behind the desk was accented with dark green, velvet drapes, tied back with silver chords. He looked at us a moment, as if considering us carefully before addressing the servant, "Thank you, Arvel, you may leave us."

The servant bowed and left. When the servant had vacated the room, the man stood and casually walked around his desk to stand before us. He was roughly about my height, he wore a velvet tunic, of a slightly more prominent green than what the servants wore, so dark that it bordered on black and in the wrong light one would be unable to discern the difference. The tunic was cut in such a way that there was no excess fabric in the sleeves, unlike the current fashion in Denerim for men to wear slightly draping sleeves with slits in a contrasting color from the rest of the tunic. It was well tailored and spoke of the wearer as being frugal and without petty vanities related to his appearance. His hair was a dark black with highlights of a light silver interspersed throughout, particularly at the temples, though he did not appear excessively old, just distinguished.

The man introduced himself, "I am Arl Trian Auber. Normally I would not have allowed three, armed men in rags entrance to my private study, but this," he held up a silver signet ring, "piqued my curiosity. The guard also said there was a masked woman with you, but it appears she is no longer in your presence."

"I am sorry for the disruption and for our inappropriate appearance. Under normal circumstances we would have addressed you with far more grandeur than we currently possess." Sighing, I leveled my shoulders and continued, "I am King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden, these are my companions: Ser Simon Grey and Ser Hadrian Forthwind. I have come to inspect the Cauldron lands and discover if you need any assistance in recovery from the Blight. There has been no word of your current situation and it concerned us greatly."

"Is this some sort of jest?" he asked with a tone between outrage and disbelief.

"No," I shook my head, "we had hoped to travel in secret from Redcliffe through the mountains, but we were set upon by mercenaries and betrayed by one of our number. Resultantly we lost all our gear and almost our lives, but we managed to escape with the help of our guide."

"The masked woman, whom I am assuming was the one who sent the ring with the guard?" The question was flat, which I assumed meant that he did not believe us. I smiled sheepishly and shrugged. It was hard to feel kingly and confident without armor and the usual trappings of authority to which I had become accustomed.

"If it were not for this ring, I would call you imposters and have you thrown you into the dungeon until I could decide what to do with you." He shook his head with a bent of eternal forbearance, much like Arl Eamon. "However, I greatly desire to speak with your guide. Maybe she can shed further light on your plight. Where is she now?"

I cast Ser Grey and Rian a worried look, Rian seemed to mirror my own but Ser Grey stepped forward, "Our guide informed us that she had business of a personal nature to take care of while in Herfirien. She assured us that she would return to us shortly."

"Indeed," the arl raised a quizzical brow.

"Yes sire," affirmed Ser Grey.

Arl Auber nodded again, his brow furrowed, his hands clasped behind his back, considering the situation carefully before deciding, "I will have your guide located, which should not be too difficult under the circumstances. In the meantime, you will partake of my hospitality. I will have baths drawn for you and some more fitting clothes provided. After you have rested and are more comfortable, we will continue with our discussion in finer detail." He returned to his desk and rang a bell that had been resting there, summoning another servant whom he instructed to conduct us to the guest quarters.

"A moment, please," I requested hastily, coming to an awkward realization. The arl, who had already "returned to his desk, looked up at me expectantly for me to finish, "Our guide…does not know who I am…?"

The eyebrows skewed slightly on that comment and he returned in measured tones, "Who does the guide _think_ you are?"

"It was my recommendation that we keep the king's identity a secret," Ser Grey broke in solemnly, seeing my discomfort, "but it was with his Majesty's misgivings. The guide knows both Ser Forthwind and myself by our true names. She believes King Alistair's name is Ser Alan Sellose."

"That sounds plausible," Arl Auber concurred, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

I cringed, "Arl Auber, it is my desire to inform the lady-in-question of my true identity. If you could…please make no mention of who I am until I have done so…more delicately."

"I understand, your Highness." The look in his eyes was filled with a number of thoughts, but I got the impression that he truly did understand.

"Thank you, Arl Auber." I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that the news would come from me instead of blurted out to her by a servant or the arl himself.

The servant began to usher us out, the arl suddenly interjected, "Wait! What name should I have the servants ask for in the market when trying to locate your guide?"

"Her name is Svenya." I informed him as we were leaving the room.

Strangely, as we were walking down the hall I thought I heard Arl Auber muse to himself, "That is vaguely appropriate…all things considered."

* * *

Once I had been bathed and changed I felt more kingly and hopeful that things would end well. The arl had his servants bring me a pair of breeches and a simple white tunic, homespun and comfortable. They brought similar clothes for Ser Grey and Rian, which was a relief. I did not want any differentiation between us until I had resolved the discrepancy in my identity with Svenya.

"How do I tell her?" I moaned to Rian as Ser Grey took his turn in the bath.

Rian, sympathetic to my plight, reasoned, "Svenya is very understanding. I am sure if you explain what happened and how Ser Grey insisted on secrecy she would understand. She was there when the mercenaries attacked and would realize what made it necessary. Also, you did attempt to tell her and she did not believe you."

"Perhaps…" I agreed.

Rian clapped me on the shoulder, "If you take her aside and just say your peace, Svenya will listen. In fact, it would not surprise me if she laughed."

"Laughed?"

"Yes, laughed." Rian insisted, "This is the kind of thing that Svenya would find humorous. You know she has a sense of humor. Think of all the stories she has told us. I get the impression that she has needed that humor to sustain her through some true ugliness," this last he said with a slight shadow passing over his face.

"So…I should just go, Svenya…"

"Yes, your Majesty?" came a familiar voice.

I jumped and spun around to see Svenya leaning in the doorway. That woman's ability to just appear was uncanny, and I blurted, "How long have you been standing there?"

"I only heard the part about having a sense of humor," she smiled. "Thank you for the compliment, Rian."

Rian blushed almost as red as his hair and I muttered, "Yes…well…"

"I do not intend to be demanding," came a petulant voice from behind the screen that shielded the tub from prying eyes, "but I would like to be able to dress in appropriate company."

"Oh, Ser Lion…," she grinned wickedly, realizing the old man's predicament, "Are you sure I could not scrub your back for you? All I would have to do is walk over there and…"

"Absolutely not!" exploded Ser Grey, "Stay where you are!"

She chuckled before reassuring him, "I jest, Ser Lion, I jest!"

On hearing that comment, Rian turned to me with a face that said, _"See, I told you!"_

"You had better be!" Ser Grey growled, sounding unconvinced.

"With that, I had better take my leave of you," she explained, "the arl has been kind enough to offer to provide me with a bath and a change of clothes. I am quite eager to be free of this grime covering me from crown to heel."

"Speaking of crowns…" I tried to draw her into a conversation, hoping I could tell her before she left. Initially I had planned to address the situation with her alone, but since she was readily available, perhaps it would not be amiss to have Rian present in order to corroborate my story.

"Sers," a servant woman entered the room, seeing the door open. "I have brought more towels." She then curtsied to Svenya, "My lady, I have been instructed to convey you to Cook Bruna's quarters. She insisted that she would oversee your bathing."

"Bruna?" I started, looking back to Svenya, "Is this the woman who helped to raise you?"

The once teasing smile cracked slightly at the edges, "Yes, I discovered that she was a member of Arl Auber's staff while at the Chantry. Now if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I really must rid myself of this dust." She hurried from the room, following the servant who had deposited the towels on a chest.

"Speaking of crowns?" Rian echoed with incredulity.

"It seemed fitting at the time." I defended myself hotly and Rian held up his hands.

Then, another servant came to the door, this one a man. "Arl Auber requests your presence, Ser Sellose."

"Hold, I will accompany you." Ser Grey offered, the sound of water splashing punctuating his evacuation for the tub.

"The arl specifically asked for Ser Sellose to speak with him alone." The servant enunciated this dispassionately and began to leave the room and I scrambled to follow him.

Going down the hall, I noticed that some of the tapestries had designs of rams on rocking mountain sides. It struck me as an interesting theme for the décor. I had grown accustomed to seeing nobles use dragons and lions to denote fierce power. It occurred to me that the rams might have been specifically mountain goats, thinking back to a tale that Svenya had told us around the campfire many nights ago. She said that the mountain goat was a symbol of protection and reliability here in the Cauldron based on the old Avvar beliefs.

I had stopped to examine a tapestry that was particularly detailed. It depicted a mountain goat prancing in profile facing the right, looking like it was chasing a wild boar and a fox, also in profile, around a globe of intricate knots. I stepped closer to it just as the servant cleared his throat, standing farther down the hall, waiting for me to proceed.

"Excuse me." I apologized, catching up and entering the room that the servant indicated. The arl waited within, looking out the window into his garden.

"Your guide informed me that you not only dealt with mercenaries sent to kill you, but you also had a run in with Templars performing a winnowing at a nearby village." He did not look at me as he said this.

"Yes."

He replied grimly, "This is quite bad."

"If I may ask," I approached the arl and stood next to him, "why is this allowed?"

"As I am sure that your guide told you. There have not always been Templars here." He began. I nodded. "A number of years ago, they came to the Cauldron and established themselves in Swidden, under the sponsorship of my neighbor, Arl Leofrik Boese. Almost immediately they forced the Chantry of Swidden to close and began targeting isolated Avvar villages. I tried to get information from Arl Boese, but he refused to speak of it, evading my inquiries. I did not like what they were doing, but I was powerless to stop them. They claimed to be rounding up apostates, but something of that nature would not require the emptying of entire villages."

He left the window and began to pace the room, continuing, "There was only a small squad at first, but they were ruthlessly efficient. Unlike the other Templars I had heard of, they did not locate mages to be sent to the Circle Tower. The excuse, as I heard it, was that the Circle Tower was too far and arduous a trip to bother escorting mages there. If a person was suspected of being a mage, they were publicly executed. Even the people they accused of mages were suspect."

"You think they were using the designation of mage as an excuse to kill whoever they deemed inconvenient?" I asked.

"Just so," the arl allowed, looking at me for the first time since I had entered the room. His eyes spoke of despair. "They were ridding themselves of people, I suspect, for resisting what they were doing."

"That explains why they were executing people, but it does not explain why the villages were emptied."

"I suspect they are doing something with these people, what I am not sure. I have heard rumors of some kind of mine, but nothing that I could corroborate." He shrugged, "Eventually the Avvar peoples began to migrate and adapt to the Templar threat. If they suspected the Templars would come, they would migrate further into the mountains or farther south into my domain where the Templars would not openly stray. When this began to occur, the Templars began victimizing the common villages within the borders of Swidden. These were people that Boese were sworn to protect and he allowed it to continue. People who managed to escape turned up here."

"Why here?" I questioned, "I thought Cloughbark lay between Herfirien and Swidden. Would they not have sought refuge there first?"

He shook his head, "Some did, at first, but Arl Crewe, not wanting to offend Arl Boese or the Templars, returned those poor individuals to Herfirien."

I groaned and Arl Auber paused, "Wait, it becomes more dire. I began to suspect that Boese and Crewe were trying to form an alliance. I appealed to Crewe to reconsider this course of action, citing our cooperation and for the sake of the ties that bound us."

"What ties?"

His brow furrowed, "Arl Crewe is my brother-in-law. We formed an alliance when he married my sister. If my father had only known …" He trailed off, lost in his own thoughts for a moment.

"I am assuming that the alliance occurred despite your best endeavors to reason with Arl Crewe," I asserting, hoping that the arl would continue."

Breaking from his silence he continued with an apologetic tone, "Something occurred that dashed their alliance roughly eight years ago. A rift developed between the two and I vainly hoped that it would last. When rumors of the Blight began to surface three years ago, the Templar activities began to subside. With the quiet I suppose I became complacent and focused on the possibility that dark spawn would attack us and made provisions in the event that occurred. The threat passed with only a handful of instances of dark spawn war bands attacking outlying villages. Their endeavors were focused in the south and we escaped relatively unscathed."

"You were very fortunate," I observed.

"Very true, I heard of the widespread destruction, particularly in Denerim." Then he looked at me squarely and apologized, "I am sorry, your Majesty. I realize that I should have organized a retinue and attended the Landsmeet and it was remiss of me not to…"

"Do not concern yourself with it, from what you are relating to me there were serious issues afoot here." I reassured the arl and gestured for him to continue.

He frowned, "A year and a half ago the Templars became active again, but this time they were moving farther south and raiding villages within the boundaries of Cloughbark. Arl Crewe maintained a diplomatic silence between the two of us, regardless of my entreaties. I sent missives to Denerim for King Cailin, revealing my suspicions. I finally received a reply from Teyrn Logain that there were far more pressing matters being dealt with, he could not spare me aid and I should resolve it myself. When the Chantry in Cloughbark closed last year it became apparent that the alliance had been agreed upon by the two of them. Failing to receive aid from the capital, I sent appeals to the Chantry since the Templars were within their sphere of influence, but I am beginning to suspect that my pleas never reached their destination."

"You think that they were intercepted by the Templars?"

"Yes." He confirmed with vehemence, "The winnowing you witnessed was not the first within this area. I have been informed of at least three others committed in the outlying villages. What is worse, these villages provide vital food stores and services for the entire arldom."

The last piece of information troubled me, "Do you think they are trying to undermine you or take over your arldom?"

He looked at me very seriously, his brow furrowed and I knew the answer as surely as he did. The other two arls were trying to displace him and divide the land between them. They probably assumed they could get away with it because the Cauldron was isolated. Once the coup was finished they would have sent word to Denerim and made some plausible excuse for the transition of power and I might have been tempted not to investigate the situation because of the distance.

"If you were to accompany me back to Denerim, Arl Auber, we would be able to raise an army of our countrymen and true Templars and set this to rights." I proposed this, expecting him to be amenable to it.

"I cannot," he replied, elaborating, "My people here need me. If I were to vacate my land, Boese and Crewe would swoop down like vultures and take over. We might be able to take back the land with force after that, but at what cost to the land. As long as I remain it will be harder for Crewe and Boese to seize Herfirien."

I could not fault his reasoning, "Fine. I will return to Denerim with my companions and we will raise support for you. I will return within the month with a force to maintain your holdings here. I will also inform the Chantry and they will send true Templars to take these rogues in hand."

"Thank you, your Majesty." He inclined his head with gratitude, "I have one other request."

"Oh?"

He paused uncertainly before continuing, "The guide that brought you here…the bard, Svenya…she and I are old acquaintances. I am concerned for her safety if she should remain here based on her previous history with Arl Crewe and Arl Boese. It is my wish that she should return with you to Denerim. If you could find her a berth within your court where she might be able to flourish and her talents appreciated I would consider it a personal favor."

This information was intriguing, but rather than questioning it I readily agreed with a respectful bow, "It would be both an honor and a pleasure, Arl Auber."

"You have my gratitude, your Majesty."

I was about to take my leave to inform Ser Grey and Rian what had transpired when I paused, a point of curiosity nagging at the corner of my mind, "With your leave, Arl Auber, I have one question."

"Yes, your Majesty," he nodded.

"The signet ring that you indicated as the reason for granting us an audience," I began, "what was the design on it?"

He took a breath before answering, "The crest on the signet ring is of a charging mountain goat. It is my family crest. It was a gift."

"Thank you." I replied, quietly exiting with much mull over.


	21. Chapter 14: The Signet Ring

**Chapter 14: The Signet Ring**

**Arl Trian Auber**

When the king and his two knights departed to bathe and rest, I sat a moment examining the ring. It was obvious that it had been cared with regular polishing during the intervening years since I had last seen it. Running my finger over the graven image of the mountain goat, rearing up to charge, reminded me of things I had not allowed myself to remember in so many years.

The ring had been commissioned by my father for his young bride and he bestowed it upon their wedding day. My mother had treasured it always, never removing it from her finger. She had used it to seal her letters. For her it was a symbol of how she had embraced her new family and its heritage. When she had become ill and her time drew to a close she left the ring to me with the instructions that I should bestow it on my own bride.

When Eiluna came to Herfirien to become my wife, I placed the ring on her finger before tenderly kissing her hand, explaining its significance to her. She, like my mother, also cherished that ring and her vows to me. Such happy years we had together. She was so beautiful and full of life, she was loved by our people and eagerly worked among them with compassion, learning the herb lore and the traditions, the songs and the stories, the art and the small rituals that were as natural to us as breathing. When she was taken from us by illness, much like my mother had been, a part of me died with her.

I had buried myself in my duties, meting out justice for the people I mediated for and made sure that the needs were met. I fulfilled the duties required of me, even if my heart was not in it. It was not living, but subsisting.

Then my sister, Ayleth, sent me a letter requesting that I allow my youngest niece and nephew to stay with me during the harvesting season. When we had been children we had been inseparable and I was as devoted to her as I was my mother. Her marriage to Donngal Crewe was arranged, but she had been eager to become Donngal's wife and be an arlessa. She talked incessantly of how close the two arldoms were and how easy it would be for us to visit one another whenever we wished.

After the wedding she wrote almost weekly, informing me of every little detail of her new life. Then her letters started to thin out, coming mayhap once a moon or two in an entire season. I did not question it or think less of her for her laxity in writing, she was a busy woman. After her first son, Fendril, was born the letters stopped all together. The only news I would have of her would be a hastily scrawled line or two in her husband's missives when he proposed business trades or requested assistance of some nature.

The letter a year after Eiluna had passed caught me off guard. I had known of Ayleth's four children, the youngest two being twins of five years at that time. Never having laid eyes on them and having had no children of my own I was reluctant to agree to the visit, but remembering how dear Ayleth was to me and feeling lonely I finally sent a letter of my assent and made preparations for their care. I was informed that they would travel with a nanny to help meet their needs and I had rooms organized for their interim in my household.

The day they arrived at the beginning of the harvest season, I had been informed that there was a potential plague of root rot that was attacking the root vegetables we were trying to harvest and store. There were also a number of ill goats in one of the south pastures. The whole world felt like it was going mad and I had to keep it under control. Most of that day I spent either in fields or reassuring farmers and laborers that everything would be well and prevent panic.

When I returned to the mansion all I wanted was a hot meal and to be allowed to rest without someone coming to petition something of me. As I walked in the door, Kynan, my head of household, informed me that the children had arrived and were settled. My first instinct was to leave be and have them summoned to me the next day, but my curiosity to see what they looked got the better of me and I arranged for them to share my evening meal rather than partake of it in my room.

I could never forget the moment I laid eyes on them as they were ushered to my table by a rounded, pleasant looking woman. They had dark brunette hair, the color of mature chestnuts and matching dark brown eyes. Their resemblance to my own mother was uncanny, especially considering that neither their mother nor I had resembled her, taking after my father's black locks and hazel-green eyes. Looking at them made my heart ache slightly.

The children filed into my presence, only giving me partial glances with their downcast eyes at stolen moments. Clearing my throat I tried to put them at ease, taking a moment to complement their manners and ask questions about their home. They ate in near silence, giving one word answers when coaxed and nodding meaningfully in affirmative when asked if they liked their quarters and the garden.

After what felt like an eternity, the meal was over and their nanny announced that the children should go to their room for bedtime. Like dutiful living dolls, the two children excused themselves from the table and followed their Nanny out of the room, except the little girl stopped short in the doorway and turned to ran back to me, resting her little hands upon the arm of my chair and looking into my face as if trying to deduce my soul from what she saw there. Then, with a chubby, beckoning finger she lured me to lower my face closer to her and placed her hand gently upon my cheek.

"You look like the small picture Momma keeps of you," she confided, "except for your whiskers. You had no whiskers in the picture."

I recalled the picture of which she referred, my sister had painted it shortly before her marriage and I recalled the grueling sessions of posing and sitting in complete stillness so that she could manage to capture my likeness to take with her. The memory made me smile and the little girl mirrored that smile on her own face.

"She promised you would be kind to us and not speak sharply." The girl informed me of this with new gravity, as if verifying that this was the case and not some empty promise.

Whispering solemnly, I vowed, "I will _never_ speak sharply to you, little niece." This promise seemed to appease the child and she stood on tiptoe to bestow a reverent kiss upon my cheek before scurrying off to their rooms for bed.

The rest of their visit, I brought them with me all over the Herfirien. They witnessed the harvesting and listened to the stories I told them of their mother and I when we were children. I would watch them play in the garden, climbing trees and helping to pick the vegetables with their nanny for their meals. The pair were lively companions and I derived much pleasure from their company.

Their time with me seemed to end too soon and they had to go home. Maerwynn, my niece, was most adamant that she wanted to stay and manage house for me while her brother, Murchad, offered to stay on and train as a knight in my service. The devotion to me was touching and I was loathed to let them to go.

Every year, from then on, I extended an invitation for the children to visit during harvest time. Eagerly I looked forward to their coming. When they would I arrive I would embrace them both fondly and listen as they regaled me with tales of their lives and experiences. Those were my happiest times.

One year, when the twins were nine, their older brothers accompanied them. I was fond of my niece and younger nephew so I looked forward to acquainting myself with the older boys, assuming that I would come to regard them with equal affection. It did not end as I planned.

From the very beginning Fendril and Ronan, aged thirteen and eleven respectively, were sullen and restless. They never looked at me directly or spoke more than a word or two at one time. In my presence they seemed ill-at-ease and appeared to try to avoid me. Thinking that they would warm to me in time, I allowed them their space and encouraged them to explore the town, provided they were careful.

After a week or two I received reports that they were bullying the village children and were rude and demanding with my staff. Deciding to rein them in and confront them about their behavior, I went to seek them out in the garden. When I found them I was shocked. Murchad was on the ground, bleeding and crying. Maerwynn was struggling to break free of her oldest brother who was gripping her wrists and kicking her in the shins with his heavy boots. He did not notice me until I came up behind him and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. He began cursing and swearing until he realized who it was who restrained him. Then he fell into a glaring, brooding silence.

I marched him inside, finding the nanny speaking with the other boy in the kitchen regarding his cruelty to the kitchen cat that was the best mouser of the household. Sending the woman to see to the younger children, I took both boys in hand and lectured them about how dishonorable it was to terrorize those weaker or smaller than themselves, particularly women. They listened in dour silence, making no sign that they understood or that they were repentant for their actions. Within the week, seeing no change, I sent them home with a missive explaining why and stating they would not be welcome in my home unless they experienced a vast improvement in their outlooks. Maerwynn and Murchad spent the rest of the harvest interim as they had always done, but the events caused me concern.

I broached the subject with the twins' nanny, Bruna, who had apparently cared for the younger children since they had been born. According to her the older boys spent far more time with their father, being schooled in the running of their home and how to work. The twins rarely saw them and were not accustomed to being with them. Thinking that the behavior had stemmed from a sudden change in their liberty, I was satisfied with the answers and did not consider it further.

Years passed and the twins continued their annual visits. The year they turned fourteen, I noticed that they were both maturing into amazing young adults. My niece, especially, was graceful and had a harmonious voice. The halls were filled with her singing and it was like a spring breeze passing through. It refreshed the soul, giving new life to those who listened. It was a beautiful summer and I began to think ahead to the future.

I had no children to name as my heirs. Since Maerwynn and Murchad were my sister's children it would not be unseemly if I were to name them as my successors. Their older brothers were prepared and poised to take over Cloughbark and providing the twins with future options seemed a wise decision. I began to tutor both of the children that summer in how to run the arldom of Herfirien and began introducing them to the heads of the villages. The twins dutifully listened to my instruction and related well with the people they came into contact with.

When they left for home at the end of their visit, I began the legal arrangements and made plans to announce it that following year and inform Donngal Crewe my intentions. I assumed that he would be pleased since he would not be pressured to provide the twins with a berth within his own arlage. I could not anticipate what would change everything.

One night, after the first snowfall, one of the gate guards rushed into my study, informing me that Maerwynn had unexpectedly arrived. I could tell from the look on the man's face that he was gravely distressed and without a thought or a word I bounded from my room and to the front door. I stopped short on seeing my beloved niece just inside the large doors.

She was shrouded in a cloak and the fingers that gripped the edges to keep it closed looked thin, so much thinner than they were the few months prior. Aside from the cloak, the clothing she was wearing was far to light for travel during that time of the year and she was shivering. What caused me to catch my breath, though, was the fact that the right side of her face was bandaged and blood still seeped, showing red against the white pallor of her face.

I drew the shivering girl into my arms and led her to the fireplace in my study, calling for the servants to bring hot cider to warm her. She would not speak, regardless of what I asked or how I coaxed. She only continued to shiver, regardless of how warm we tried to make her, which indicated a grave fever.

She lay in bed for a number of days, delirious and I refused to leave her side, frightened she would slip away in her sleep. Two days after Maerwynn had arrived, Bruna also appeared at the gates stating that she was looking for the girl. She was ushered in and I discovered that she was versed in herb lore and ministered to my niece's needs. Soon the girl's fever broke and she became coherent again.

Once the danger appeared to have passed and I could think clearly, I cross examined Bruna, demanding to know what had befallen to cause the girl to be in such a state. She was evasive, reluctant to speak but nebulously implied that there had been dark happenings in the Crewe household. Thinking back to when my older nephews had visited and piecing together what little was revealed by the nanny, I began to suspect that one either Fendril or Ronin had flown into a rage and injured my niece.

I sent word to my sister, informing her of Maerwynn's whereabouts and insisting that the girl should remain in Herfirien until she could be deemed well enough to travel. Her face was badly scarred with what appeared to be a burn, with an angry red imprint across her cheek and around her eye. If it had fallen differently she might have been blinded. Over time the color receded to a pale purple and had some raised edging in places, but it seemed far less severe than when I had first seen it. Maerwynn stubbornly refused to discuss with me what happened to her and it gravely distressed her so I soon resolved to stop asking, assuming that my initial assumptions were correct and her silence was a misguided attempt to prevent bringing unwanted attention to her family.

The winter was long, and even when Maerwynn was probably fit enough to travel, the poor weather and snow had made the roads treacherous, or so I claimed. In reality, I could not bear to part with my niece for, even in her poor state, she brought joy into my life with her presence. We wiled away the winter days in the study, reading form my library and discussing our thoughts on whatever struck our fancy. Bruna also helped to occupy the girl, teaching her how to manage a kitchen and other tricks of herb lore. It did not occur to me to mind, particularly since they began a habit of serving me a wonderful tea that they brewed by hand from herbs that Bruna collected.

When spring finally came and the snow began to disappear, I reluctantly made arrangements to escort my niece home to Cloughbark. Maerwynn seemed to be distressed at leaving as well, but hid it behind a brave façade and allowed me to bring her back without argument. The trip took two days by horse and we rode into the grim walls of the Cloughbark estates.

It had been many years since I had been to these lands and it seemed almost darker than I remembered. The servants had the look of frightened people hiding behind painted smiles. They graciously welcomed us when they saw my niece, though they exchanged nervous glances with one another as they waited on us. We were informed that Arl Crewe was seeing to some land matters, but Arlessa Ayleth would be quite eager to see her daughter. We waited in a drafty sitting room as we listened to servants scurrying in the halls.

Ayleth, when she entered the room to greet us, looked nothing like the girl I had remembered. Though she still possessed her loveliness, her smiles never reached her eyes. She was very quiet and retiring, shunning all laughter regardless of my good natured teasing and remembrances of our happy childhood. Maerwynn kissed her mother on the cheek and embraced her, but there was no warmth exchanged. These things gravely distressed me because I could not account for them.

When Arl Crewe arrived home after attending to other matters, I requested to speak with him privately. I voiced my concerns about Maerwynn's safety, particularly in reference to the fact that she had been gravely scarred. I made not accusations against my nephews, but I offered to open my own home to my niece if that would satisfy him, to which Crewe politely, though laughingly rebuffed my offer, stating that he had other plans for my niece. He spoke of the possibility of sending her abroad, perhaps to Orlais, for further schooling. The thought of her being sent so far away made me even more distressed, but I did not press my suit further.

The next day I took my leave of Cloughbard, but not before I took my niece aside and spoke with her.

"Listen to me, Mae," I whispered, holding her hand and looking into her eyes as I used to when she was a little child, "if ever you need me you can come to Herfirien. You are welcome and it will always be home to you."

"I know, Uncle" she squeaked, a tear trickling down her cheek.

"You and your brother will always be safe with me. What is more, it is my desire to name you both as my heirs. When I am gone, Herfirien will be under your protection." I asserted strongly, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

"Really?" she breathed.

I took her hand and pressed my mother's ring into it, "This ring belonged to both my mother and my wife. It is now yours. If ever you need my help, send me a letter sealed with this and I will move the mountains themselves to find you and bring you safely home. You may be a Crewe, but you are equally an Auber as well. Never forget that."

Speechless, overcome with emotion, she nodded and clung to me. It took every ounce of my will power to leave her behind, but it would have been unseemly to overstep my place.

I left Cloughbark and had not travelled back since. The details that I noticed on my visit however gnawed at my innards. Something was gravely amiss and it made me apprehensive for my niece and nephew's safety. Though I sent letters inquiring after them I received no replies, save for the business missives that Donngal Crewe sent regularly making requests and empty of what truly mattered to me.

That harvest season Maerwynn and Murchad did not come. I was sent a missive by their father that he had made other arrangements for their time and they would be too busy to waste their time in childish pursuits. Murchad was becoming a man and had to start shouldering responsibilities for his family. My world became emptier with their absence.

Desperate to know any substantial news of my dear ones, I enlisted the aid of spies. I sent them to find work within the household and around the center of the arlage in order to monitor what transpired on those lands. Maker forgive me I had never felt the need to employ such means before, but what I discovered distressed me far worse than I could have imagined.

I discovered that not only were my nephews, Fendril and Ronin, cruel and violent, but apparently they had learned it from watching their father. The man was not above beating the servants for a poorly executed task or accidental transgressions. He was exacting to the point of pettiness and was driven to maddening lengths by his ambition and arrogance. The people around him were merely tools, and that included his wife and children. In particular, Maerwynn was terrorized because she would refuse to bend to his every whim or would intercede on behalf of those he tormented. It was even rumored that he had scarred his own daughter as punishment for questioning him in one of his rages.

After so many years of silence, the pieces began to fall into place in my own mind and I understood what had been there all along and it made me ill to think of it. I tried to secretly send word through trusted couriers to my niece and nephew, begging them to escape to Herfirien, but received no reply or indication that they had ever received my letters. Feeling helpless, I began to pray to the Maker that he would take pity on them and permanently remove Donngal, but if the reports were to be believed then Fendril and Ronin would not be an improvement.

Years passed and I gave up all hope of being able to help Maerwynn and Murchad when, shortly before the harvest season was destined to begin, Mae arrived at my gates one night with Bruna in tow. The guards knew who she was and did not detain her, but rushed her through. She came into my study and threw herself into my arms. During the three years since I had last seen her she had grown, but it was her eyes that showed the greatest change. They held a strength that indicated a wisdom borne from suffering, but they also indicated that she had not been broken by her ordeals.

My heart was glad to have her with me again, but her somber expression spoke volumes. She urged me to sit down so that she could reveal her purpose to me. I complied and she began to tell me of her father's latest scheme to arrange a marriage between her and Arl Leofrick Boese.

Knowing Boese by reputation, I visibly shuddered and she went on, "Uncle, father has learned that violence again me does not work to his advantage. I have hardened myself to withstand it and he is unable to coerce me by threatening it. Now, however, he resorts to threatening those around us if I do not comply with his wishes."

"Mae," I reassured her, "you are safe now. He will not be able to force you to leave here."

"You do not understand, Uncle." She chided, before continuing, "When I refused to agree to the arranged marriage with Arl Boese, he threatened to turn Bruna over to the Templars."

I felt stricken by this information. To resort to physical violence was one thing, but to purposely turn innocent people over to the Templars to be tortured and executed was something far worse. My mouth went dry.

"Even if I were to stay here," Mae explained, "both father and Boese would turn their wrath on you, use the Templars to take it out on the people here."

"No!" I exploded, "If they were to do any such thing there will be blood. I am an Auber and I will _not_ stand for that blatant disregard of honor and the ancient compacts that have long held the Cauldron in peace."

For once, my niece looked frightened. In all my years I had never seen her look so, but she was frightened for me and for what her refusal would unleash if she were to seek shelter under my roof. She tried to argue with me, but I refused to hear her. I was full to the brim with my own self-righteousness.

I had the servants prepare rooms for her and assured her we would speak in the morning. She embraced me once and kissed me on the cheek as she used to do as a little child before taking her leave of me to go to her room. Sometime during the night she stole from the house and was not heard from again.

As she foretold, Arl Donngal Crewe arrived on my lands to fetch his daughter and was irate to find that she was not there. I held my tongue and allowed him to search my estate, my property and all the surrounding countryside without complaint, but also without assistance. The longer he dallied in Herfirien, the more distance she could put between herself and him.

When he was satisfied that I was not harboring her, the man's ire spent itself and he went home, vowing to hunt her down by proxy. Crewe was not interested in the woman he had threatened to turn over to death, now that the threat had backfired on him, so I kept Bruna on at the estate until eventually she was running my kitchen.

Eight years had passed, and I still knew my niece as well as I did then. I stood up and walked to the kitchen, opening the door with a bang to see my niece sitting at a table, gossiping with Bruna. At my entrance she rose to her feet, attempting to smile coyly, though there was uncertainty on her face as well.

I was filled me with a mix of emotions and all I could manage to do was sputter, "Perhaps I should be flattered that you informed me of your presence at all, though I would have preferred you to have used the front entrance rather than the back door like a thief or a beggar. At least I knew where to find you as soon as I discovered you were here."

She was unsure of what to say, she opened her mouth twice but nothing came out. Finally she offered, "Well met, Uncle."

In three quick strides I crossed the room and hugged her to me, crying in broken gasps, "Welcome home, my Mae!" Let the whole staff see me, I no longer cared.


	22. Interlude 7: The Black Swan

**Interlude 7: The Black Swan**

There is a black swan in the water

that trails the white one on the surface.

It glides in wait below the ripples,

all concealed in its secrets.

Even the beautiful have their shadows,

secrets that follow them down halls,

whisper behind closed doors,

wait to be revealed in a moment of carelessness.

Those of us who have travelled between

know the risks of the lie

and know the necessities behind it,

simultaneously wishing to forget.

Oh, to forget myself,

or have I already forgotten?

I have been the black swan so long,

I have become the lie so completely

that all I am is the shadow.

**- Bard Svenya of the Mask**


	23. Chapter 15: Crippled Birds

**Chapter 15: Crippled Birds**

**Svenya / Maerwynn**

_The air felt heavy with damp, moist, misty. It felt as though I could draw a sword and shave it into thin strips. I cautiously walked; trying to find….what was I looking for? I could see nothing for the mist and I was wandering aimlessly. It reminded me of what my Uncle had advised me to do once if I ever got lost, "Sit down and wait for someone to find you."_

_"_Who would find me here?"_ I thought this to myself. I was not entirely sure where _here_ was. Would anyone even be looking for me?_

_I did not feel panic or worry, just confusion. I kept walking, assuming I would eventually come to some kind of distinguishing landmark or something to help me get my bearings. I just had to keep going. I always had to keep going. _

_That is when I heard it…the roar of flames; I turned to see a forest on fire and it seemed to even consume the mist itself, replacing it with black, choking smoke. It bore down on me and I had no choice but to run. The fire seemed to shriek at my heels, I could feel it licking and singing my hair as it flew out behind me in my rush to escape before I too was consumed by it. My eyes stung, my throat was rasping with my panting and my lungs felt they would burst, but I dared not stop. _

_Just when I felt I could run no longer, I tripped on a root or something and fell forward, head first with a startled scream. Instead of hitting solid ground, I belly flopped into water, my mouth filling with the brackish flavor of pond water. Struggling, paddling I brought myself to the surface. Treading water, I turned enough to look back at the flames which roared helplessly but could not consume the lake that I had thankfully tripped upon. Spitting water out of my mouth, I tried to regain my bearings, examining the lake which I now swam in. Aside from the bank where the fire roared, everything else was concealed with more mist._

_I groaned with frustration, squinting further into the mist to try to discern an opposite shore where I could crawl out onto dry ground. Somewhere to my left I thought I could just discern a sand bar and I swam for it, finding a tiny island of loose gravel and sand. I lay there for a moment, feeling exhausted and my chest feeling tight, wanting to cry._

_Then I thought I heard a voice calling, softly from further in the mist, _"Maerwynn." _The voice sounded like my mother and I jerked in response._

_I lifted my head to see a woman in a black cloak standing before me, but her face was concealed by the hood drawn far over her eyes as she bent over me, _"We have been waiting for you, Svenya, but time runs thin."

* * *

I started and caused water to splash over the sides of the tub. Bruna grabbed me by the forearm to steady me, looking frightened, "Easy, my swan. You dozed off while I was bathing you. I propped up your head to be sure you wouldn't slip under the water and allowed you to rest. You seem exhausted."

Shakily I looked around me at Bruna's room from off the kitchen. It was a small room with a small bed and a chest. A small shelf was on one wall with some small items that she had collected over time. Taking a deep breath I could smell a hint of rosemary that she had hung to dry. Someone had once said that rosemary sparked memory, but I could not recall who. With the familiar surroundings I began to calm.

We had set up the bath in here because it was easier to tote hot water from the kitchen fireplace to this room that was just off the kitchen. I had allowed Bruna to wash my hair and assist in the bath more as a sentimental weakness. She gently scrubbed my back and stroked my hair, making me feel like a little girl again and very safe. How I had missed her. She had always made me feel comfortable and safe and we were in Herfirien, the one place I considered to truly be home. Perhaps that is why I had been comfortable enough to doze.

I stood up and reached for the clean towel on a nearby stool and wrapped it around myself, stepping gingerly over the side of the wooden tub. Rigorously rubbing the water off my limbs, I tried to banish the dream, but found I could not. The fire, the lake, the island, the voice, the woman…they all bore down on me making me feel heavy in my soul. This boded ill.

While I said nothing, Bruna continued to watch me with a troubled expression. Maker knows I had no desire to worry her, but I also did not want to discuss the dreams, however she is not one to be put off by silence, "What did you dream, my swan? You seem upset."

"It was just a dream, Bruna." I stated, not meeting her eyes, trying to be dismissive.

Her mouth formed a crooked line, not a sneer but a look that implied she did not believe me, chiding, "You know there are no such things as _`just dreams'_ with us."

I sighed, "I don't want to dwell on it Bruna."

"You may not want to dwell on it, but it seems to want to dwell on you." She shook a finger on me as she used to when I was a petulant child, "You know that to deny the call can be to your detriment."

My brow furrowed, "I have not felt drawn to the Fade in years, Bruna. I am not a mage."

She "tutted" with exasperation and shook her head, "You have ever been stubborn. I realize that it is how you have survived things that would break most, but it also causes you to deny what you need to face."

I could not argue with her. She had been a Fade Walker for most of her life. The Avvar people had been travelling the Fade for years, even before the Tevinter Imperium magister lords had begun experimenting with Fade travel that eventually led to the tainting of the Golden City. The Avvars used talismans carved from the mountain rock to help to guide them in their sleep to gain deeper insight into the self since the dreamer, on a certain level, shaped the dream. Some could manage to travel into the Fade without a talisman, but it was trickier. It was like trying to walk in a very strong wind that pushed you in various directions, making it hard to move as you willed. There were other beings in the Fade that could manipulate dreams and dreamers if they did not have a strong sense of self, other Fade beings could call a particular dreamer into the Fade to impart warnings or wisdom, but you usually had to take them with a grain of salt. Demons could use dreams as easily as the benign spirits, but demons tended to prey upon those they considered to be powerful. They would feed off of those individuals and mages would be preferred because they already possessed power the demons could more easily control. Fade Walkers could be camouflaged and move with the Fade because their powers were so miniscule that they seemed to be no different than the other dreamers that travelled the Fade, unaware of their surroundings.

I was still quite young when Bruna discovered that I possessed gifts that enabled me to travel the Fade as well and she had guided me in learning how to use them, if only for my own safety. The Fade was not a particularly safe place and should not be travelled lightly. Many of Bruna's lessons were in the guise of old folk tales and it was not until I was much older that I realized this. I learned the rules and boundaries early on and therefore travelling the Fade occasionally was not difficult, but I never purposely travelled the Fade. My travels were normally a side effect of crossing over as I slept, though I knew it was possible to go into the Fade by entrancing oneself through meditation with a talisman or the use of teas.

Once, when I was about twelve, I witnessed Bruna performing a purposeful trip into the Fade. A man in a nearby village had fallen ill and would not wake. She had been begged by the man's daughter to intervene for if he died there would be no one to care for her or her mother and they would starve. Seeing the girl's distress, Bruna agreed to undertake the walk, but it was with grave reservations and had asked me to assist her since she had no one else she trusted.

After brewing a pot of tea, Bruna had me pour a cup for her and she used a long silk scarf to wrap a small crow shaped talisman against the palm of her hand. She instructed me to watch her carefully and if she seemed disturbed to carefully pour some of the tea into her mouth and press the talisman more tightly into her hand. It had been a relatively uneventful trip, since I had only had to help her sip tea twice, and she returned after only two hours with news that the man would recover and we received word that he had awoken in his own home not long after she had returned.

At the time it was risky for Bruna to undertake such practices since the Templars had begun taking people and searching for apostates. There were other times where people asked Bruna to Fade Walk for them and she refused. When I would ask her about the refusals she stated that Fade Walking should only be undertaken in extremely dire circumstances and there were some who only wished to see her do it for reasons other than what they stated. She had become extremely shrewd and discerning while working for my father and knew how to spot a lie.

Bruna looking serious and resolute, went to her little bed and pulled a little wooden box out from underneath. Carrying it over to me, gesturing for me to sit on a nearby stool, she explained, "I have held this for you for a long time. I feel it is time for you to have it."

She handed it to me and I ran my fingers over the smooth wood, reluctant to look within. When I finally plucked up enough courage and removed the fitted lid from the bottom I found an ebony swan with spidery veins of gray covering it, nestled in a scrap of red velvet fabric. It was exquisitely carved and I could sense that it was very old. When I ran my fingers over it, the stone felt strangely warm, as if it had been placed by a fire and had absorbed its warmth therein.

"This was meant for you." Her statement was spoken matter-of-factly, belying the gravity such a gift entailed.

"I don't think I can do this, Bruna." I whispered mournfully, frightened.

She kneeling next to me, drawing me into an embrace, "You are the only one who can. I have reached the limit of my art. She is waiting for you and only you."

"What if I cannot save her," I quavered.

"It is not salvation she is waiting for," Bruna returned, "she has been hiding as surely as you have. You must face this."

I laughed mirthlessly, "If I were really like Svenya from the stories I would not have come back. I would have kept flying. I had managed to escape all this and yet, here I am again."

"You cannot escape what you carry with you, my swan." She concluded, "You have been flying, but you need to face what is here before you can be free."

I would have continued arguing but one of the maids knocked timidly on the door. She informed us that dinner had been served in the dining room and I was expected. Bruna nodded to her, "Thank you, Melita. I will help the lady to dress for dinner."

When the servant left Bruna opened the chest and brought out a rich dress of dark green accented with silver floss. She held it up and nodded, pleased with herself. I was startled, examining it in my hands, running my fingers over the folds. On seeing my confusion Bruna explained, "I already told you that I had expected your coming. I had time to prepare at least one dress appropriate for a lady."

"I am speechless," I marveled.

"That is suitable," she urged, "for we have no time to discuss it. Get dressed and go down to dinner. I must oversee the kitchen to make sure the service is proper for our guests."

* * *

When I was announced as, "Lady Svenya" and ushered into the dining room, my Uncle instantly rose and escorted me to an empty seat next to Rian and across from Ser Sellose and Ser Grey. The knights had looked up at my arrival and got to their feet, though the astonishment on Rian and Ser Grey's faces were priceless. I had no doubt that I looked far finer than I had while I had travelled with them with my breeches and tunic, though I still wore the mask as I had always done. Ser Sellose seemed thoughtful, but not surprised.

My Uncle gave my arm a subtle squeeze as I sat down before returning to his own seat. I addressed the others with a grin, "I am glad to see that you are all well." Turning my attention to Ser Grey and teased, "I presume that you were able to complete your bath without further interruption, Ser Lion."

He refrained from answering, opting to grumble into his soup. Rian chuckled to himself and tried to cover it by wiping his mouth with a napkin while Ser Sellose laughed openly. My Uncle looked at me questioningly and I had the grace to look chastened and refocused my attention on the soup. After that it was a very quiet dinner, though quite better than the fare we had become accustomed to during our journey.

When the meal had concluded, my Uncle had us withdraw to his study. He led me to a seat by the fire, one I had often sat in when I had spent time in the mansion as a young woman. He seated himself opposite me and the three knights stood. Ser Grey and Rian tried to examine the books on the shelves and Ser Sellose pulled back a curtain on a nearby window and gazed into the darkness, lost to his own thoughts. It was awkwardly silent and I wracked my brain to try to think of something witty to say to break the tension.

I could have saved myself my worry, for Ser Sellose finally turned to me and stated, "I have been trying to find a subtle, cautious way to ask the questions that have been plaguing me since we arrived. Failing at finding a way to do this, I have opted to treat you with the respectful frankness that I believe you have come to expect from me. I have been trying to arrange the pieces revealed to me this afternoon and I have been making various conclusions, but only you can inform me if they are correct. Now you are dressed, quite beautifully I must observe, and seem to be quite at ease here. Please forgive me if I overstep myself, I do not wish to distress you….but are you Arl Auber's daughter?"

My eyes grew wide and when looking at what little information he had been privy to, it was a reasonable assumption, but I was still surprised when I stuttered, "What…no…no…n-no."

"I'm sorry," Ser Sellose apologized, "I was so sure. You had sent the signet ring and Bruna works in the kitchen here…I am so sorry. I just thought…"

I cut him off, regaining my own composure, "No, do not apologize. I just was not expecting the statement. I would be proud to claim Arl Auber as my father…"

"As I would be to claim you as a daughter," acquiesced Arl Auber as he smiled as he got up from his chair to stand beside me and fondly placed a hand on my shoulder, "but _Ser Sellose_, you are not far wrong." With that my Uncle turned to me expectantly.

After a breath, a prayer and straightening up perceptibly I announced, "I am Maerwynn Crewe Gand, daughter of the Arl of Cloughbark."

Rian, Ser Grey and Ser Sellose were silent for a moment before Ser Grey lambasted, "And you could not have told us this from the _very beginning_?"

"Well," I hedged sheepishly, "I did not want anyone to know. If the Templars or the Arl of Cloughbark should discover that I was here, it might go badly for everyone involved. It was safer for the three of you to remain unaware of who I was…"

"You owe us no explanations! You had good reasons for your caution…wouldn't you agree Ser Lion?" Ser Sellose ground out, looking pointedly at his commander. It startled me for I had never heard Alan speak in such a tone to Ser Grey.

What is more, Ser Grey straightened up slightly and bowed to me, "I beg pardon, lady. I forgot my place momentarily."

"No, Ser Lion," his formality cut me slightly, after all of our time travelling together I did not want to return to the cold distance between us, "I am sorry. I should have been more forthcoming. I had not intended to stop here with you, but had wanted to go straight on to Cloughbark."

My Uncle turned pale with that and he turned to me, "Are you mad, Mae? You could not possibly go to Cloughbark now. It is too dangerous. If your father caught you…"

"He would not. I can go and return in a matter of two days, three if the weather turns sour." I argued, "No one will be the wiser."

"First of all, with the Templars roaming south and considering what occurred, they will be looking for a woman with a mask." Listed his arguments my Uncle sounded as he did when I was ten years old, "Second, there is no Chantry beyond here to gain shelter. Third, there are wild animals randomly attacking people. It would not be safe."

I shook my head, "Uncle, you have heard that Mother is sick. Murchad told Bruna that he feared she was dying."

"It will not help her if your father catches you trying to sneak into her rooms," he stormed.

"Please, Uncle," I pleaded.

"No!" he blasted, "In the next couple of days these three knights will be returning south. They are going to enlist the aid of the King of Ferelden and the Chantry to come and deal with the Templars. Boese and your father have become too unruly to manage on my own. I have only just barely held on these last three years."

"Fine, Uncle," I tried to placate him. He was becoming extremely agitated and I feared it was going to hurt his heart. He seemed so much older and more tired since I had seen him eight years ago.

He started to pace, speaking hurriedly, "What is more, I want you to accompany them back to Denerim. You will be my emissary and establish my case before the Landsmeet. If we can raise a small army to keep the peace here once the Templars are forced out then it will be much better. You are the only one I can trust to convey the truth of what has been happening here."

I jumped up, "Uncle, I will not leave you here to deal with this alone. Please, allow me to stay! We will think of something. These men are trustworthy, I know that they will convey your concerns to the King reliably."

"It is not safe for you here!" he insisted, "What will happen if Boese and your father discover that you are here? Remember how you left the last time to prevent that?"

"Yes Uncle," I groaned, "but things have changed. If I wait to see Mother…"

"You are my heir, Mae! If they catch wind of you here they will stop at nothing until you are in their clutches. Your father would see it as an easy way to gain control of Herfirien without having to take the place by force." He sagged slightly and he glanced at Ser Sellose as if appealing to him for support.

I shook my head, "They will never know I am here. They would never dream that I would come back after having been away for so long. Please let me stay, Uncle!"

He suddenly threw his arms around me and faltered, "I have lost all who I have held dear, Mae. If I were to lose you again it would kill me. They would be able to come and take what they liked for I would be no more. If I know you are safe I can manage to hold them at bay until help arrives from the capital."

I hugged him back, my throat choking with tears unshed. I did not know how to fight or to reason with my Uncle. It was the same when I had left eight years ago. His heart was too big to be reasoned with when it came to my wellbeing. He would make sure that I left with the knights even if he had to have me tied and gagged in a wagon. What else could I do?

"I will comply with your wishes, Uncle." I intoned before drawing back to look at him. He smiled weakly at me and nodded his head.

"I promise you, Arl Trian, I will make sure that your niece will be safe in our company," Ser Sellose stepped forward solemnly, his right hand upon his chest.

Uncle nodded to him, "I would expect no less."

Sellose turned to me then, "Svenya…Mae…I know this has been very trying for you…"

I waved him off, "It is well, Ser Sellose. Please excuse me, I need to inform Bruna…" turning to my Uncle, "would you consider allowing her to accompany me?"

"It is not for me to say," Uncle put his hands up, signifying helplessness, "the woman makes her own decisions. If she chooses to go with you then she is free to leave, though I would admit that my diet would probably suffer as a result."

"I am sorry," I stated to Alan, Rian and Ser Grey, taking a hasty leave of them and exiting the study to go to the kitchen.

My mind swirled. I had come all this way in order to make peace with my mother for I feared she was dying. The disturbing dreams I had been having did not comfort. The dream from the afternoon haunted me still.

"_We have been waiting for you, Svenya, but time runs thin."_

* * *

I thought back to the last time I had seen my mother. Father had announced to me his intention for me to marry Arl Boese, a man with a reputation for cruelty, much like my father.

"_Short sighted, disobedient girl: the only good a woman serves is warming a man's bed. What good is a daughter to a father? She must be placed in the bed of a man who is useful. In that way she is indirectly useful to her father." He had expostulated._

_I had stood my ground and countered, "And is the man aware of the fact that his intended is scarred?"_

"_Yes, you need not concern yourself with that. A scarred woman is still a woman. In the dark a man hardly notices such things. What truly interests them is far lower. As long as you are able to bear healthy sons, the face matters not. If men need a pretty face on occasion there are servants enough and desperate women begging for coin." His off handed way of addressing this made my stomach turn, but as if considering it more carefully he approached me and gripped me under my chin, forcing my head to turn slightly so he could examine his work, "I regret that I was hasty in executing that punishment. Had I considered it more carefully before acting I would have avoided marring your face. Those burns could have been more easily concealed on your back. I have learned to be much more careful since."_

_I stepped back and kept silent. There was no point in arguing._

_He paced a moment before stating, "Be content with the idea, my dear. You _will_ marry Boese."_

"_So you say," I answered._

_His eyes seemed to snap at that comment and he backed me to the wall, his face next to mine as he hissed, "You will do as I wish or there will be consequences." He placed I cold hand against my throat, "It would be a shame if the Templars caught wind of an apostate sheltering in my household…"_

"_What?"_

"_Bruna has been dabbling in the forbidden arts for many years now. The Templars would be most concerned if they knew of her little hobbies. I am a righteous man, my dear. I would not want to gain the ire of so strict an order."_

_I cried, "Bruna is no apostate and you know it!"_

"_Do I?" He grinned, but the smile did not meet his cold eyes. "Now it would help if my daughter did not distract me with her petulance. A soft word from you would enable me to remain in my right frame of mind."_

"_What word?" I breathed._

"_Yes."_

_I was defeated; to protect Bruna I sacrifice my own life. I nodded numbly and he drew back, patting my cheek with mock affection. "That is a good girl. I will send word to your betrothed and all the arrangements will be finalized."_

_He strode from the room, confident in my victory and my gaze turned to my mother. She had stood there the entire time, watching and listening, saying nothing. It was how it always had been. Not a word passed her lips and she looked at me helplessly before coming forward and placing a hand upon my shoulder._

_I jerked away from her, "How could you stand there?" I spat at her as if it were acid, "How could you say nothing? Is it not enough that you have stood by and allowed this," gesturing to my face, "but you would also let him harm Bruna without a word?"_

"_Mae, I am sorry," she asserted, "but there is nothing I can do. I have no control over your father. Fighting him only causes more pain, more violence. Let him calm himself. Perhaps you can reason with him."_

"_You cannot reason with a monster," I yelled._

_She tried to shush me, she feared he would hear me and return with a heavy fist, but I did not care. He had beaten me down for so long that I had become numb to it. Now I was being sentenced to spend the rest of my life chained to another man who would potentially do the same and extend it to my own children. I would rather die. Even the Maker might forgive suicide when confronted with such cruelty._

_I roughly brushed past my mother and ran from the room. I had already begun mentally formulating a plan for escape. I would take Bruna with me and we would go to Herfirien. Uncle Trian was bound to help us, he had promised her would. _

_It was not until I had reached Herfirien and my rage had abated slightly that I considered what my father or Boese would do to him if they knew he sheltered me there. When my Uncle had brought me back the last time my father's rage was insatiable for weeks. He had beat on both Murchad and me, threatening us with so much worse if we ever went to Uncle for sanctuary. He had threatened to bring the full force of the men-at-arms down upon him and the people. Not a brick would be standing. Perhaps it had been empty threats, but I did not wish to find out._

I had left my mother and brother behind to face my father's wrath alone. It shamed me that I did not even try to bring them with me. The last memory I had of my mother was the look of pain in her eyes as I ran from the room. It was burned into my memory.

If things were growing so much worse in the Cauldron, I could only speculate how bad things were on my father's estate. Murchad was obviously managing, but for how much longer? I needed to assure myself of his safety and make peace with my mother. It was eating me alive.

I considered trying to enlist the help of the knights, but that did not seem fair. It was one thing to risk my wellbeing, but I knew that if they were caught by the Templars and suspected of assisting in helping villagers to escape from the winnowing they would be executed or worse. If the Templars found out who I was the worst they would do to me would be to turn me over to my father.

My mind roiled, I would have to make a decision. My Uncle had every reason to be concerned. My father was not a forgiving man. There is nothing guaranteed that he would not kill me in a fit of rage himself. He had threatened to do it previously and only just barely stayed his hand. I had the scars to prove it.

I closed my eyes and tried to recall the image of my mother, her soft hands, her sad eyes, anything that came to mind. I had abandoned her without saying goodbye, blaming her for my lot in life. It had taken me years to see how trapped she was compared to me. I had the strength to leave, but her strength had been broken long before I was born. It was like a crippled bird in a cage, even if it were to get out from behind the bars it would never be able to fly. Doomed, the bird contents itself in singing to its jailers, regardless of how cruel they are.

In the end, we are all just crippled birds.


	24. Chapter 16: Tea and Consequences

**Chapter 16: Tea and Consequences**

**Ser Hadrian Forthwind**

I felt sorry for my king. King Alistair paced the rooms that the Arl had provided us with and ranting about the turn that events had taken. He had been prepared to reveal his true identity to Svenya and was extremely distressed that he had failed to do so.

"Your Majesty," I attempted to comfort him, "at least she is likely to understand your own reasons for subterfuge. You can take her aside in the morning before we leave and explain the situation."

Ser Grey grumbled, "She would not have the face to berate you for secrets considering that she was carrying such a large one herself."

King Alistair bestowed a very unfriendly look on the commander and Ser Grey conveniently mumbled something about seeing to preparations for our departure in the morning. As the older man retreated from the king's displeasure, I turned to him, "Even if it were not for the falsehood, Svenya would still understand."

"I do not understand," he groaned, "I allowed Ser Grey to make a call that I should have overruled as king. Instead of doing what I thought was right I enabled Ser Grey to dictate my actions. I have been allowing Arl Eamon to do the same thing. I am no king, I am a puppet to men who I consider to be wiser." The king grew silent and continued to pace.

"You appreciate men who are experienced. When these men give you sound advice, you heed them." This seemed to make no impression on the king's distress, after a moment of consideration I continued, "Alistair, I will go to Svenya and ask her to come here. You can speak with her then privately and then be at ease."

He sighed, looked at me and nodded, "Thank you, Rian, but I should probably go myself." With that he stalked from the room and headed in the direction of her quarters. However he had been barely gone for a few moments when he returned with a concerned look on his face, "She is not there. Come with me and we will find her. Svenya has to be somewhere on the grounds. She was gravely distressed after the discussion in the study and probably went off to think; more like she went off to the kitchen to pour out her woes to Bruna."

"That is sound," I agreed and we went together to the kitchen, "but are you sure that we should disturb her if she is doing that."

He glanced at me, "What kind of friends would we be if we did not try to help her?"

I grinned at that, "I doubt kings concern themselves with remaining friends with their subjects."

"I guess then it is a good thing that I am no true king." He smiled ruefully.

I clapped him on the shoulder, "You are the only king I would follow, my lord."

"Thanks Rian."

We were walking down the halls surrounded by the images of mountain goats on the various tapestries, I could picture Svenya here as a little girl, running about and exploring. It was strange at how I had only known her a short time and yet it felt as though we had been friends an eternity.

"Why do you think Svenya does not get on with her father?" I absently posed to Alistair, voicing something that had niggled at the edge of my mind since the meeting in the study.

"If it has anything to do with what is underneath her mask then I may not get on with Arl Crewe either," he replied ominously and I was startled with how darkly his tone turned. It had not occurred to me that there might have been more to her separation with her father. Since the king had met with Arl Auber earlier in the afternoon he had been withdrawn and morose. I did not pry in what had passed between them, but I assumed that it was more to do with the Templars and the state of affairs in the Cauldron.

I had been shocked when the king had asked if she was Arl Auber's daughter, but it had made sense when I had paused to consider it. When she revealed who she really was I thought that perhaps she would introduce us to her father and that would assist in our mission only to have that assumption reversed shortly thereafter when it was revealed we would be taking her with us back to Denerim to raise an army and help to return order to the chaos stirred up by these rogue Templars. It greatly gratified me that the king was planning on taking definitive action.

Both Ser Grey and I had stood as men paralyzed as the entire scene played out before us, and it was a blow to Ser Grey's pride that he himself had not put the pieces together as astutely as the king had. I think that he did not give Alistair as much credit and it chastened him slightly that the king had hit as close to the mark as he did.

Ser Grey was blessed with excellent insight, but at times I feared that his pride clouded his judgment. The king often read people better and communicated with them because he did not take anyone for granted. Ser Grey would refer to it as "the common touch" when Alistair was out of ear shot and I think it was meant to be disparaging on a certain level though I saw it as a strength. He was far more kingly than some of the self-centered nobles I had observed in the capital who were more concerned about their tunics and frills than the people who served them.

In the few weeks we had travelled together my respect for my king had swelled because he actually listened to others and did not merely assume he knew the best course of action. My mother had taught me that it is the man who readily admitted ignorance and tried to remedy it that had the power to change the world, for one must be willing to change oneself for the better first.

After wandering about aimlessly on the first floor, we managed to locate the kitchen and the two of us cautiously peeked into the room in question, afraid we would interrupt some female ritual or gossip. Sure enough, Svenya was seated at a table while an older woman bustled about, cleaning and organizing food stuffs and silverware. Our bard and lady was conspicuously polishing and arranging the silver on a clean piece of fabric on the table, muttering something unintelligible from where we stood and the other woman would cackle in reply or make some kind of statement. It continued like this until the elder woman finally announced, without even looking at us, "You gentlemen had better decide if you wish to come in or stay out. It is rude to merely lurk in doorways without presenting yourselves."

The woman's authoritative tone hearkened me back to my childhood, making me feel like a young boy sneaking into the pantry after curfew. I felt the heat rise to my complexion and I believe the king felt the same for he loudly cleared his throat and straightened his tunic before fully entering. He bowed slightly to the woman, "You must be Bruna, I presume." I followed his example, mimicking the gesture, but with probably less formality since I shot a grin at Svenya, but my friend could only manage a half-hearted smile.

"So, my swan, which of these young men is your swain?" the woman was gazing at us both, seeming to size us up with her eyes. It was quite disconcerting because it felt as though the woman was looking right through me and down to my small clothes.

The statement had startled Svenya and she had almost squealed, "Bruna," in consternation and shock. I shifted uncomfortably but the king chuckled in spite of himself to see our indomitable guide so cowed by the implications. Svenya went on to answer with irony edging the syllables, "These kind gentlemen were my honor guard during my journey here."

"And quite an honor it was," Alistair piped in, waggling his eyebrows for the elderly woman's benefit. The woman smiled warmly, taking no offense at his familiarity and seeming to take an instant liking to our king.

"You must be Ser Sellose," she observed, before turning to me, "leaving you as Rian, the Red Knight."

I blushed, flustered by the woman's appraisal. Apparently Svenya had informed her about us in the short time we had been here and I wondered what had been said, but the king laughed outright, "Ah, I see that our reputations have preceded us. Hopefully she only spoke of us in glowing terms."

"Yes, _your Majesty_, there have been only good things spoken of you." The woman nodded, "though I must admit I am eager to make the acquaintance of _Ser Lion_."

"And so you shall, perhaps you will even be able to converse with him at great length if you accompany us back to the capital." Alistair answered, but I do not think he noticed that Svenya's eyes grew cold on the mention of our return to Denerim. I tried to gesture to him and appraise him of the sudden change of weather, but he had focused his attention on Bruna.

"So you men have ruled what shall be done. When have you ordained our departure?" the words were icy and Alistair turned to her, visibly puzzled by the edge to the words.

"Svenya…Mae…your Uncle," he stumbled over the words, trying to adjust for her demeanor.

She cut him off with a, "You were correct the first time."

"Fine, Svenya," he agreed, framing his voice to earn her appeasement, "but your Uncle has every reason to be concerned for your safety considering how bad things are here in the Cauldron."

She stood up with that, "And what has he told you exactly?"

"He only told me about what is occurring with the Templars and that your father has allied himself with Boese, giving the Templars free reign. It cannot stay like this." He reasoned with her, trying to make his voice soothing but she would not allow him to dissuade her.

"All of you men seem to think that you can command a woman and she will simply bow to your whims," she accused, coming around the table and squaring off against a very flustered monarch.

With hands raised, Alistair tried to calm her, "I would never presume such a thing. However, there are other things to consider. If further violence should break out here then not only would you be unable to escape but your Uncle would also be at risk, not to mention these people. You saw what the Templars did at that village. If you had been caught you could have been killed…we could have all been killed."

"Do not speak to me about violence, I have lived with it for most of my life," she fumed, "and secondly, you were not concerned with my safety when you sent me in the midst of those Templars to evacuate those people."

The king became visibly agitated with that accusation, "That is not true. I was scared near to death that something would happen to you. I would never have asked it of you if I did not trust your abilities and there is no way I would have knowingly allowed harm to come to you."

"You trust me as long as it suits your purposes to do so," she spat, crossing her arms, turning sullen.

"That is not fair," he bellowed, finally losing patience under the barrage of anger she threw at him, "I have never once treated you with anything other than respect. You have proven yourself time and again and we would never have come this far without you. If I am driven to protect you it is only out of a sense of responsibility. I would do no less for Forthwind or Ser Grey if confronted. We will need your help in the capital if we hope to gain the support of the nobles at the Landsmeet, for it will mean far more coming from you than from three men who have no understanding of the people and how they live here, regardless of their station."

"I have no wish to be paraded about at court!" she announced and I was wondering why she was being so unreasonable. It was very unlike everything I had come to expect from her during our journey. She had always carried herself with confidence and now her words sounded like one on the verge of panic, desperate to argue herself out of something. She was frightened, but of what?

Perhaps the king sensed this as well, for he sighed, visibly curbing his temper, "Svenya, why are you behaving like this? Why are you loosing your venom on me? All I want to do is help you and Arl Auber."

For a moment she stopped, took as shaky breath as if about to say something and then settled on bolting from the room altogether. The king poised himself to run after her, but Bruna caught him by the forearm, causing him to turn to her questioningly. She counseled, "You would do better to take on a bear empty handed than to fight with a woman in this mind."

"What just happened?" he wondered, collapsing into a nearby chair, "I came here to speak with her and she just attacked me."

"It was not you who she attempted to attack. She was attacking her own sense of helplessness. You are not to blame for her ire." The woman patted his hand and gestured for me to take a seat as well.

King Alistair ran his hand though his hair as I seated myself, leaning my cheek thoughtfully into the palm of my hand. It seemed that fate was against him ever being able to tell Svenya the truth and I could sense his frustration. He had been trying to do what he perceived to be the right thing and was thwarted at every turn. Now Svenya was so angry I worried that she would not take the news well.

Bruna bustled about the kitchen again, putting a kettle over the fire and concocting some kind of tea for us, the king tried to argue that she need not trouble herself but she waved him off, "I pride myself on being a good hostess and it is not often that I have a king and a knight gracing my kitchen with a visit. I would die of shame if I did not offer something in exchange for the compliment." She smiled and her eyes held a knowing twinkle as she winked at him.

After a moment of having the woman's statement sink in, Allistair sputtered, "Wait…you are not teasing…are you?"

"Of course I am teasing," the woman reassured him as she placed a steaming cup next to his hand, "but I can only tease for I see the truth. I knew who you were the moment you entered the room, though I admit to being surprised of seeing a king of your ilk. You have impressed me greatly."

It appeared as though the king's jaw had become unhinged and hung down on his tunic, but the woman politely avoided drawing attention to it, continuing to serve tea, asking me, "Would you like cream or sugar?" To this I nodded, more intent on listening to how the information would unfold before me.

"Does _she_ know?" Alistair questioned, probably hoping that Svenya had picked it up on her own and he would be saved the embarrassment of having to inform her personally.

"No," Bruna shook her head, as she ladled a small spoonful of sugar into my cup, "Normally she probably would have, but she is far too distracted. Her own mask has limited her ability to see those worn by other people."

"Arrgghh." He groaned, putting his face in his hands and the woman patted his shoulder with an air of motherliness. It was quiet for a while as I sipped the tea, which was quite pleasant.

"Let her anger run its course," the woman advised when King Alistair raised his head again, "on the morrow she will be more herself again, I am sure. Her disquiet stems from concern for her mother."

Alistair allowed, "She had made an argument of that in her discussion with Arl Trian. Is the arlessa really so ill?"

This was answered with a shrug, "If the reports from Mae's brother are to be believed, then yes. He was never one given to exaggeration."

"She has brothers?" I asked.

"Three to be exact," Bruna admitted, "Murchad is her twin and she was always close to him. I think it broke her heart to leave him. The others…" she trailed off, seeming to think better of what she had intended to say.

"I never knew my mother," Alistair voiced absently, with a note of longing as if he had not intended to speak it out loud, "I cannot imagine what that must be like."

After a moment of reflection he continued, "Would there be any way to travel to Cloughbark without drawing attention? Could we possibly send word to her brother and have him aid us or help him to smuggle their mother out?" I know it must have sounded as impossible to him as it did to me, because he cringed after it had been spoken.

Bruna insisted, "No, Arl Trian is correct. If it were not for the Templars and the wild animals roaming it might have been possible. Also, the arlessa sounds too ill to be moved and even if she were not ill, it would be near impossible to get her to leave without him catching wind of it. Arl Crewe is tight fisted and will strike with that same fist if he is crossed. He has only gotten worse over the years and Arl Boese's encouragement has not helped matters either. The best course of action would be to get help from the capital. Do you think you can exert enough influence, your Majesty, to move the southern nobles to action? "

"Even if I have to follow behind the army and whip all the stragglers to keep them moving forward, it will be done!" He assured her, slamming his fist on the table for emphasis, the cups clattered slightly.

"Well stated," she approved, "but if you wish to move our Mae you will have to spare the rod and attract her with honey."

The king smirked, "I do not think a sweet tongue will move her either. She will not move unless she has determined that she will do so." He huffed and griped after that, "She is so strong willed, it makes her near impossible to reason with. She follows her own compass for good or ill."

"You are truly wise, your Majesty," Bruna observed before turning to me, "and what say you, Red Knight?"

I sighed, "Svenya is very determined. I get the impression that quality has enabled her to survive."

"You are far more right than you realize," Bruna lamented, a sadness filling her eyes, "She is not accustomed to being protected and does not know how to accept even well intended aid. She seems far more bent to protect and that has always been her way."

Alistair's brow furrowed, "Bruna, about her mask…she had mentioned that she has scars…how…?"

She raised a hand, staving off the question, "It is not a tale for me to tell, just as it is not my place to enlighten the lady about your position. She will only speak it when she herself is ready to face it."

With that, the king got to his feet, inclined his head courteously to the woman and took his leave, "Thank you, Bruna."

"My pleasure," she smiled. I too made move to leave and bowed to her. As we left I thought I heard her mutter something under her breath about the road ahead, but I could not discern it.

We returned to our quarters and turned in for the night, relieved that we would not have to take turns to keep watch. The prospect of an undisturbed sleep was welcome. The king was restless, but allowed himself to lie down and soon he snored quietly, the distress abandoned for the oblivion of sleep. Ser Grey went to bed without a word, also drifting off, for me however the balm of sleep eluded me. The halls seemed quiet and nothing stirred as I lay on my cot, considering the events of the evening.

The revelation that Svenya was a lady did not shock me. She had a carriage and demeanor that defied characterization. She was strong and did not allow herself to be stepped upon, refusing to cave beneath pressure, even well intended pressure. When she smiled or laughed it made my heart twinge, and I could not help but smile with her. If she was distressed, I tried to put her at ease. I did not allow myself to think that she returned my tender affections. It was enough to be in her company. Perhaps if she were to return to the capital with us…

The sound of a door opening in the hall caught my attention and I focused myself on the sounds of light footsteps padding down the hallway, sitting up. Creeping to the door and peering out into the hall I thought I could discern a shadow edging around a corner and descending to the next floor down the stairs. Not wishing to disturb anyone, in the event that it was a servant making rounds or waiting on someone, I went to investigate alone.

At the stairs I could just discern the sound of another door towards the back opening and closing. I continued down and located the door, which was revealed to be a doorway to the cellars. Carefully picking my way down the stairs in the darkness, I followed the sound of the footsteps picking up speed and further into the shadows. After almost tripping over casks and sacks, I groped about, still able to barely discern the steps and the creak of a hatch opening. I stumbled into another set of stairs and climbed them, opening a hatch at the top. The cellar hatch led to a garden that was bathed in moonlight. With more light I could just discern a hooded figure making its way to the back wall.

I continued to trail the figure silently until it was lost under the tree cover that lined the garden. I began to jog quietly to catch up and only just managed to catch sight of the figure again as it paused under some poplar trees. The approach was less than stealthy since I accidently snapped a twig trying to sneak up on them. The person spun around and stared at me from the recesses of their hood.

"Rian?"

"Svenya, why are you creeping about in the darkness?" I asked, pretty sure that I knew the answer to the question.

She pulled back her hood and pleaded, "Please do not ask me to go back."

"Svenya," I cajoled her quietly, "do not ask me to simply let you go. Aside from the fact that Ser Grey would skin me alive for allowing you out of my sight, Sellose would execute me on principle for not waking him to begin with when I suspected you were sneaking out."

"Rian, I have to go!" she insisted.

"And what about Arl Auber?"

She explained, "I left a note explaining my intentions. If I do not return in four days, he will know that something has happened. You and the others can go back to Denerim as planned, inform the Chantry of the situation here and raise an army. Besides, there has to be more to all this. By going I might be able to gain more insight as to what my father and Arl Boese intend. I can forward you the information by messenger or wait here for the army to arrive en route to meet them."

"You are not a spy!" I insisted, "You should not be travelling alone. You _know_ all the risks involved in the course of action. What do you hope to gain by doing this?"

She visibly sagged at this question, "You do not understand what I did when I left…you do not understand the things that I said to my mother before I left. It has haunted me for eight years. If I wait for the army to sort this out before going to see her it could be too late. I need to make peace with her. _Please_ Rian." These last words cracked, as if strained with tears.

"Do not ask this of me!" I insisted.

"Rian," she regained control of herself, "I am leaving, with or without your leave. You will not be able to stop me by force."

I hated to admit it, but she was right. I could not bring myself to lay hands on her, even to stop her for her own protection. If I were to run back to the mansion and raise the alarm that she had snuck away she would be long gone before I could rouse everyone and she would be travelling alone. We would be forced to track her which would put us at a disadvantage. She had the upper hand and I could see no other way to proceed, "Then if you insist on this course of action, I will have to accompany you for your protection. Thank the Maker I had thought to grab my sword before leaving the room. At least I have that."

"Thank you, Rian." She breathed before continuing to reassure me, "We can use these trees to reach the top of the wall and clamber down the chestnut tree on the other side. By the time morning comes we will be halfway to Cloughbark. Once there I can plan the best way to make contact with my brother."

Giving her a boost into the tree I followed her nimbly, which was quite easy without my armor holding me back. I mused to myself the look on Ser Grey's face when he discovered our absence in the morning and shivered, "Ser Lion will bite my head off when I come back within reach of his claws."

"You may be right." Svenya glumly agreed as we slipped into the shadows of Herfirien's moonlit streets.


	25. Interlude 8: The Price of Poison

**Interlude 8: The Price of Poison**

**Avvar Folk Tale**

_Once there was a man with a large herd of goats. He was very proud of his flock and they enabled him to live a fairly comfortable existence. The only difficulty he faced was from a wolf that stalked the area and worried his goats. Occasionally the wolf would manage to kill and drag off one of the older or sickly goats which greatly upset the goatherd, though it was no great hardship since the herd itself was large and the rest of the herd thrived._

_The man had tried numerous times to hunt the wolf or frighten it away. The wolf was too cunning to be fooled and stayed safely out of reach of the man and his sons. If the man set traps, the wolf would carefully walk around them. If the man tried to bait the wolf into the open where he could shoot it with his bow, the wolf would not go after those goats but would locate some in a far more concealed area. If the man stayed up with the flock all night, the wolf would find a way to catch him unaware in the morning when the man dozed off from exhaustion. It greatly angered the man to have the wolf outwit him at every turn._

_One day, when the man had discovered that the wolf had struck again, he left the goats under the care of his sons and went to a local wise woman well versed in herb lore. Finding her in her hut, he respectfully saluted her, "Greetings, wise mother. I have a wolf that keeps eating my goats and I want to be rid of him. Would you make me some poison so I can kill the animal?"_

_"Has the wolf killed so many in your flock that your family is in danger of starving?" The woman asked him._

_"No," the man replied, "he only goes after the old or sickly goats, but why should that beast benefit from the herd that I have cared for and raised? He offers me no payment for what he steals. One day he may decide he is not satisfied with the old ones and attack the kids. It would be better for us if I kill the wolf before he becomes a greater problem."_

_The old woman looked at the man gravely and questioned, "Do you know what the price of poison is?"_

_"Name the price and I will pay it, as long as it is potent. I will even give you a goat from my flock." The man promised._

_"You would give me a goat, but you resent the wolf getting a goat?" The woman shook her head, "The cost may be more than even you realize."_

_The man became impatient with the woman and demanded, "Will you help me or not? I can find another herbalist who can make a poison."_

_"If poison is what you wish, then you will have it." The woman assured him sadly. With that she went into the forest and after she had gathered what she needed, she returned and boiled the ingredients for the concoction in a pot until it reached the correct potency. She carefully ladled the mixture into a flask, corked it and gave it to the man. "Here is the poison. I require no payment for this service. Go and be well."_

_The man was quite pleased with the woman's work and was happy to receive her services at no cost to him. He returned to his herd and put his plan to work. Separating the old goats from the others he put poison on their hair and released them to pasture. _

_After some time passed, the wolf came across the goats and singled out one of the old ones, killed it and dragged it off. The poison on the goat's hair made the wolf very sick and it died, removing the man's one difficulty. When weeks went by and the man did not see any sign of the wolf, he celebrated with his family, happy to be rid of the old predator._

_The seasons passed and Spring turned to Summer, and then Summer turned to Autumn. When the man's family began to prepare for bedding the goats for Winter a sickness broke out among the animals. The sickness among the closely penned and plentiful flock spread quickly. Before the first Winter snow fell, the sickness wiped out three quarters of the herd._

_Desperate to find a way to curb the disease, the man went to the herbalist and begged her for a potion to combat the sickness._

_The old woman looked at him knowingly and clucked her tongue before saying, "If you had left the wolf alone who culled the ill goats from your flock you would have been spared this tragedy. The wolf only cost you a few goats a season. The price of the poison cost you most of your herd." _


	26. Chapter 17: A Strong Handed King

**Chapter 17: A Strong Handed King**

**Alistair**

_I pushed open the massive wooden doors leading into the throne room of Denerim Castle. It was vacant and shrouded in night. A brilliant full moon gazed in through the windows at the top of the chamber. My footsteps clattered on the stone floors with my armor, the sound echoed within the empty hall "like Chantry bells" as Svenya would say. It was queer to be surrounded by the hush, save for my own footfalls. The chamber had always seemed large, but empty it was cavernous._

_A figure was waiting on the dais at the opposite end and I approached cautiously. The figure wore a robe of office and a crown. As I approached, the figure stood and reached a hand of welcome to me, though I could not discern a face as the crown cast a strange shadow across it in the moonlight, but the form of the figure reminded me of Cailan. _

_Instinctively, when I got to the foot of the dais, I kneeled down upon one knee and bowed my head. I heard the figure on the dais come forward with sure steps. He took my hand and helped me to rise back to my feet. When I lifted my eyes to look into his face, I was confronted with my own benign countenance with a mischievous twinkle in in its eye. I started back, but my doppelganger held my right hand fast and clasped my elbow with his left hand._

_"Now that you have gotten here you do not intend to leave so soon, I hope!" My own voice chided playfully from the doppelganger's mouth, "There is much to discuss between you and I. We must get reacquainted."_

_"Who are you?" I squeaked with disbelief and concern._

_He shook his head patiently, "I am you, of course. You retrieved me from the edge of the Fade where my guardians cared for me. To be entirely fair, you left me there to begin with, but I am willing to let bygones be bygones." He was steadily pulling me up the steps of the dais, his grip like iron._

_Guiding me around at the top, we looked out at the throne room again. Suddenly it was flooded with the light of many golden candelabras arranged about the room and music floated through the air. Couples dressed in fine array were gliding across the floor, arm in arm, the luxurious fabric sweeping the stone as they danced._

_I felt a sinking feeling of disquiet as I realized that every man and woman was wearing a mask. Their faces were concealed and I could discern none that I knew. The eyes that peered at me were neutral. Some of the figures seemed familiar, but I could not be sure. Seeing my obvious distress my companion asked, "What is wrong?"_

_"They are all wearing masks," I answered, shifting uncomfortably, "How can I tell one person from another?"_

_"Ah!" the doppelganger exclaimed, pleased, "Now you are starting to understand the full scope of your position."_

_"And what is that?" Annoyance plain in my question._

_He smiled, though sympathetically, "I see no masks."_

_"How can you see no masks?" I demanded, my left hand balling into a frustrated fist, "What do you mean, `I see no masks?' They are everywhere!"_

_He held up his hands, implying passivity, "I did not deny they were there. I, however, am not able to see them. I do not see as you currently see."_

_"Fine," I gritted my teeth, "You claim to be me. You claim to not see as I see. _If_ you are me, how can_ I_ be me?"_

_"You are fragmented, broken, healing. You tore yourself asunder in an attempt to deny the pain." He explained soberly, no longer smiling._

_"The pain of what?" I whispered, hoping to cover over the fear rising in my chest for I did not truly wish to know the answer._

_He gestured to something behind me and I turned to see it. Suddenly we were no longer in the throne room, we were in a rubble strewn square in Denerim, the last day of the Blight, the day of the Archdemon's defeat. The dead were scattered around us, the shrieks of frantically retreating darkspawn filled the air as they ran directionless in droves. Looming in front of me was the spire of Fort Drakon, a plume of black smoke rising from its apex. It was the moment I knew the Archdemon was dead, and so was…_

_Closing my eyes, shaking my head to free myself of the sight, I felt a hand upon my shoulder. Expecting it to be the doppelganger, I turned to face him only to find Tabris. Her plaited auburn hair, her beautifully delicate and determined features, her elegantly tapered ears, everything as I remembered._

_"You cannot follow where I go, Love," she whispered, her eyes slightly teary but smiling, "I did not want this for you."_

_I grabbed her upper arms, trying to make sense of what I saw and could not be seeing. There was so much I wanted to say, but my tongue stuck in my mouth. Finally I managed to force, "I am so sorry. I should not have let you go."_

_"That was not your choice to make, Alistair. The people needed a king, someone who could care for them and who did not want the power for the wrong reasons." She comforted me._

_"But I am a horrible king!" I bellowed, "All I ever do is listen to Eamon and follow directions."_

_"No wonder, Love. You have been trying to live half a life. You tried to send your heart with me over beyond the Veil, but it is not time for you to leave this world, even in part."_

_I choked back the tears, "I do not want to live without you."_

_"I am not asking you to live without me. I am asking you to live. Part of me dwells with you. For a time you allowed me to guard your heart. Now you must choose a new guardian. Someone you can trust, someone you honor." She squeezed my arm and embraced me one last time, bestowing on me a soft kiss before disengaging herself and walking away into the mist. After a moment I heard her voice drift back to me, "Be well, Love. Be what you have it in you to be: a good king."_

_My doppelganger stood off to the side, head bowed slightly, as if considering something carefully. I spoke cautiously, "Now what?"_

_"Well, you heard the woman." He clapped his hands, and the scene reverted back to the throne room, the dancers swirling in dizzying circles. The music then stopped abruptly, the people cleared the floor, making a corridor. The doors of the hall swung open unaided and three distinctly feminine figures entered. They wore cloaks reminiscent of the women I had seen in a previous dream, but their faces were concealed by their hoods. The one on the right wore a black cloak, the one in the middle wore a white cloak and the one on the left wore a soft gray cloak. "Choose!"_

_"What?" I panicked. "Choose what? How do I choose? I do not know them."_

_He shrugged, "How does anyone make weighty decisions? As of late you have been allowing others to make choices for you, but that is starting to grate on you. You have been rebelling against this."_

_"There are things I have done on the recommendation of others and I have regretted it. If I cannot follow my own conscience, then how can I be a king?"_

_The doppelganger smiled proudly, "You are learning, but there is no shame in taking guidance from those you trust. The ultimate decision, however, lies with you."_

_"Are you really me?" I asked uncertainly and he nodded and I continued, "You said you do not see the masks. Can you see these women as they are?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Then can you help me to make a good choice, someone I can trust?" I pleaded._

_"Do you request this in earnest?" He asked, one eyebrow raised._

_It was my turn to nod, "Please."_

_"Then it will take time for an apt evaluation. Do not fear, I will offer one when I have had time to mull the choices over. There is no rush. Now go back, your Majesty. There are more pressing issues you must face." He raised a hand in farewell._

At least I did not wake up screaming. That is the best I can say about the morning.

On waking up, however, I did notice that Rian's cot was empty. On inspecting it I found it to be cold and Ser Grey was deeply asleep and snoring. I walked over to him and roused him, "Ser Grey, Rian is gone. Did he come to bed last night?"

"What?" he blearily looked at me, trying to get his bearings.

"Rian is not in his cot and I did not hear him leave during the night. Did you notice when he left?"

Suddenly there was a frantic pounding on the door and Ser Grey jumped out of the bed as I made my way to the door and opened it. Bruna was there looking terribly worried. This was not good. "The Arl wants you to come to his study immediately. Svenya is gone." Then my stomach hit the floor.

Grey and I rushed down to the study. Arl Auber was in a dressing gown, pacing the floor as we walked in and his face looked haggard. In his hand he held a piece of parchment and wordlessly handed it to me.

Scrawled in a neat hand was the following:

_"Uncle, I am sorry to disobey your wishes. If I felt there were any other options available to me I would willingly bend on this issue. The thought that my mother could die before I make my peace with her is not acceptable. Armies move slowly and politics even more slowly. Even with Ser Sellose, Ser Grey and Ser Hadrian pressing forward to the best of their abilities, they might not make it in time. I also believe there to be graver concerns afoot. With the Templars I cannot help but feel that there is more under the surface, particularly in their drive to gather villagers. Perhaps in going to Cloughbark I can uncover information that will be of greater merit or use in dealing with this crisis. I will return in four days. In the meantime, send the knights to Denerim as agreed so that they can start moving the king to action on our behalf. They are honorable and reliable men and you could do no better than to put your trust in them. I will return soon and you can scold me soundly then. – Mae"_

"I think I may very well wring that girl's neck." The frustrated observation as it erupted from my lips startled even me.

Ser Grey looked over the parchment, "Do you think Rian went with her?"

"Where else would he be?" I ranted, waving my arms, "He would follow her like a mabari puppy straight into the Black City if she took it into her mind to go there."

"What should we do, your Majesty?" asked Arl Trian, suddenly looking very old and defeated. He slowly lowered himself into a seat by the fire.

"First, we are going to talk to Bruna and get a clear idea of the layout of Cloughbark and Arl Crewe's estate. Then Ser Grey and I are going to go after them. I realize that we need to get back to Denerim, but I do not think that leaving them to go alone to Cloughbark is wise if Arl Crewe is anything near to what I have imagined."

The Arl rubbed his forehead with a weary hand, "He is _worse_."

"That settles it then." I concluded grimly.

"No, it is far from settled," came a determined voice from the doorway. On turning around we saw Bruna fully dressed in breeches and a tunic, her hair covered with a kerchief and a sack slung over her shoulder, "I will be accompanying, your Majesty. You may have need of me. Get your clothes and your gear. Do not bother with armor. I already instructed the grooms to prepare three horses. We will discuss any other necessary details on the way. Those two have a head start and if we hope to overtake them we need to leave _immediately_."

It occurred to me to argue, but it also occurred to me that it was a vain endeavor. Ser Grey however only knew to argue, "Madam, I assure you we will be apt enough on our own. We appreciate your eager assistance, but we will manage."

"Ser Lion," she stated, knowing exactly who he was even having never met him, "I was the hand that first bathed that girl as a babe. I may look like a mouse, but I have a heart of a bear. Either you take me with you or I will be following you at a concealed distance. I leave it to you."

Ser Grey mumbled something about the nature of stubborn women in the Cauldron under his breath and glared darkly, but decided that discretion was the better part of valor.

I turned back to the Arl and swore, "We will fetch your niece and we will convey her to Denerim, even if I have to sling her bound and gagged over the front of my saddle."

"I have every faith in you, your Majesty," the Arl insisted as I stalked from the room to dress and depart for Cloughbark.

As I went up the stairs I determined, "I have faith that I am going to find that girl if only to give her a good paddling in fair exchange for causing all of this turmoil."

"I could lend you a sturdy spoon." Bruna offered from the bottom of the stairs as I retreated.

"I respectfully decline since I doubt it would be nearly as satisfying as my bare hand."

I could hear the grin in her voice in spite of her obvious worry, "I can respect a strong handed king."


	27. Chapter 18: Addled

**Chapter 18: Addled**

**Ser Simon Grey**

I had grown up in Redcliffe and had always dreamed of being a knight. When I had turned eight summers old Arl Rendorn Guerrin had commissioned me as a page. It was unusual for a peasant boy to be taken into such service, as it was reserved for the children of nobility, but then again Arl Rendorn was an unusual man, a man to fly in the face of all custom or reason to follow his conscience.

He had seen me by the docks when he came through, inspecting the village. I had been unaware of him for my attention was taken up by three larger, older boys. They were in the habit of bullying smaller children when they felt that no one was watching and had caused my little sister, Farah, to weep. My mother had charged me to look after her and I took my charge seriously. When the boys were laughing at her I descended on them, fists flying, head butting, kicking, biting, anything to chase them off. One boy ran in terror but the other two managed to subdue me and pommel me until the Arl appeared out of nowhere, grabbing them by the scruffs of their necks and tanning their backsides with the soles of his boots. They ran off, leaving me to stagger back to my feet and stand defiantly before the man looking down at me with a mix of concern and respect.

"Well, boy," the man observed with a wry smile, "it appears I have done you a good turn."

"Thank you." I answered, though I was cowed and my sullen tone belied that I felt no gratitude at having to be rescued by an adult, the wounds to my pride being far more painful than my cuts and bruises.

He shook his head benevolently, "You were quite brave, lad. Not many would challenge three opponents at once and keep fighting, even if the odds seemed impossible."

With that I shrugged, not willing to surrender any emotion to this savior. I knew full well that the boys would corner me later and attack me, so he had merely delayed the inevitable. These were the harsh realities of a village boy's childhood. We either succumbed to a broken spirit or we kept fighting.

Scratching his beard thoughtfully, as if carefully considering me, the man went on to say, "Where are your parents, boy?"

"My father is dead," I whispered quietly, "he died in the sickness that hit the village in the past winter. My mum takes care of us by doing sewing for the ladies in the castle."

"Ah, your mother is the seamstress then." The man nodded knowingly.

"Yes."

At this the man bent over so he could look me in the face and his eyes showed kindness, "Would you bring me to your mother? I wish to speak to her about your future."

The man's words puzzled me, but I obediently led him to my mother. She was so startled, she dropped to a low curtsy and kept her head down when the Arl of Redcliffe was led into her small house by her battle chastened son with torn trousers and tunic. The arl commanded her to rise and with a smile he clapped me on the shoulder and lauded my courage to my startled mother, stating that it would be his honor to take me on at the castle as a page. My room and board would be cared for and a small stipend would be provided to her in return for my service to his family. This was a welcome turn of circumstance, since my small family was just barely scraping by after the loss of my father.

It had been everything I could have dreamed of. The arl was exceedingly kind to me and encouraged me to learn all I could of the art and strategy of battle. He once said to me, "Simon, it is not enough for a man to be brave. He must learn to have foresight. He must look ahead to the needs of those under his charge and consider what is best. He must consider all the raveling paths of chance and consider multiple outcomes. It is like a game where you must watch your opponent carefully and divine what will be based on what is laid before you."

I watched his own knights train and served them enthusiastically, taking note of their strengths and their weaknesses. They were great men, devoted to their arl and I was proud to be numbered among them. This was during the time of the Orlesian occupation and yet we remained fairly insulated from much of the turmoil in the rest of the country.

I even recalled the Rebel Queen, Moira, on one of her trips through Redcliffe. It was roughly about that time that everything changed. The arl allied himself with Queen Moira and had to leave his home in order to free Ferelden. He was concerned for Redcliffe, but at the same time he worried for the whole of Ferelden. He knew that the chances of defeating Orlais was slim, but he took the gamble to support the woman he believed in.

He sent his sons, Eamon and Teagan away to the Free Marches so that they would not be taken hostage by the Orlesian overlords as hostages while his daughter, Rowan, stayed with him. He sent me along with them and my mother and sister to wait on them. I was only slightly older than Eamon by about three years. It upset me that he was not allowing me to stay with him and the men whom I idolized, but he knew that it was not my time, but I did not want to hear it. I begged him to allow me to accompany him as a shield bearer or to care for his horse, but he was firm in his decision. As angry, frustrated tears ran down my face, regardless of how I tried to check them, he took me aside and ruffled my hair, stating, "You will grow up to be a brave man, Simon. My son, Eamon, will have need of a man like you when he becomes arl. You will be a man on whom he can rely. I cannot go with my sons, but I expect you to help and watch over them and serve them as you would have served me. Someday you may understand and perhaps then you will forgive me for this disappointment."

If Arl Rendorn had asked it, I would have taken on a bear in my small clothes. How could I deny him his request that I serve his sons loyally. The years in the Free Marches felt empty, but I divided my time between watching over the future arl and improving my battle skills under any master willing to teach me. I became stronger, faster and more cunning in the training ring. I could discover an opponent's weakness after only a few strokes and turn it against him. I could end a sparring match in a few minutes and eventually found myself trying vainly to prolong sparring matches by drawing out my opponent and leading them to believe they had cornered me, when in actuality they had not.

When word came of the battle of West Hill and Arl Rendorn's demise, it tore something within me. I continued to train and encouraged Eamon to do the same, the scrawny, fifteen year old that he was. I told him that his father wanted him to be a strong man who would take up his mantle when we returned to Ferelden. In another three years all of my encouragement came to pass. Eamon was sent word by his sister, then Queen of Ferelden, to return and re-establish the Guerrin family in Redcliffe. As I had been charged by Arl Rendorn, I followed and began training knights, honorable men to serve the Guerrin family.

I vaguely recalled the scrawny boy, Alistair, that was brought to Redcliffe many years later. He was wily and rambunctious, running through the woods. He had no control to speak of and would often bed in the kennels to be close to the dogs or in the stables to be close to the horses. He was full of wild fancies and talked constantly to any who would listen, trying to tease a smile.

He liked the cliffs surrounding the castle and would occasionally chase deer. There was one afternoon where Arl Eamon sent me to retrieve him when Alistair did not return for the noonday meal. I discovered the boy on a ledge with an injured wrist, unable to scramble back up. I was forced to use a rope to grapple down and carry him back to the castle. The boy bravely gritted his teeth and refused to cry in front of me, despite the pain I knew he was in.

There were rumors at that time about the boy, many of the servants gossiped that he was Eamon's bastard and that the arl had taken him in with the desire to eventually groom him for a position or to make him a knight. I, however, doubted that was the case. Eamon was obviously fond of the boy and looked after his well-being, but he also maintained a respectful distance. It reminded me very much of how his father had shown kindness to me and that was born out of a noble heart, not out of guilt. If ever I heard any spreading such sordid tales, I would bitterly chide them and instruct them to mind their manners. Regardless of how I openly, though quietly, railed against these stories, they only became worse when Lady Isolde came and slowly poisoned her against the boy.

The boy was never close to me, though he was always respectful, but still it vaguely upset me when he was sent away at the Arlessa's insistence. Redcliffe had been his only home and it reminded me of my own necessary exile to the Free Marches by Arl Rendorn, but it was not my place to question. Alistair was sent to the Chantry and I continued on with my service to the Guerrin family.

When Arl Eamon fell ill, shortly after Ostagar, and Arlessa Isolde sent the knights out to locate the Urn of Sacred Ashes, I was one of the first to go, eager to save him. It had been a long, discouraging search which only turned up empty for me. When I was called to return, informed that the Village of Redcliffe was under siege by a nameless evil, I was many leagues from home. It took me a week to return, only to find that I was too late to help, but also discovering that Alistair, the boy I had remembered, had repelled the undead and defended the people of Redcliffe. I had been pleased that the boy had proved himself in service to the man who had striven to care for him. Alistair also went on, with the help of his comrades at arms, to locate the Urn and bring back a cure for the ailing Arl Eamon.

We had barely recovered from the Arl's illness when we discovered that, in actuality, Alistair was the illegitimate son of King Maric and the heir to the throne. Arl Eamon supported a bid for the lad to become king and, despite my own misgivings, pushed it through. All this occurred in the midst of the Blight's end and the defeat of the Archdemon by the Hero of Ferelden, a woman rumored to be the lover of the future king. She died and the new king was crowned. I had led a legion to retake the city of Denerim and was honored for my part in the defeat of the darkspawn.

I will never forget the coronation. The lad had stood in the throne room in the palace of Denerim and was crowned and blessed by the Reverend Mother. Arl Eamon had looked on with pride and, in his eyes, the new king looked scared. This did not bode well for my country to place a reluctant, untried king upon the throne. Though I respected him, I questioned Arl Eamon's reasoning. This was a hideous gamble and we all stood to lose if King Alistair could not hold the throne.

At one point I considered surrendering my commission, but Arl Eamon requested that I stay on at the palace in Denerim and train soldiers to serve the king and occasionally act as a body guard during the king's public appearances. It was with reluctance, but I could not forget the vow I had made to his father and I agreed to Arl Eamon's request. I continued to serve my arl, though indirectly.

Since this whole doomed enterprise to the Cauldron had begun, I had slowly been forced to grudgingly respect King Alistair. When he was not distracted by idle fancies, he could plan and was brave. In a battle he was reliable, but he could be indecisive and when he did make decision I feared that his heart would override his head. He had a decent sword arm, but such things did not make a man a king.

Taking on the Bard had been a great risk, for she could have slit our throats in our sleep, though eventually she proved that she too was reliable and worthy of respect, though I would never have admitted it. Then it is discovered that she is actually a titled lady of the Cauldron. The shock nearly floored me. She was not what I anticipated at all. At least in one small way she lived up to my expectations, she rashly and recklessly led Ser Forthwind on a merry quest of destruction as I always predicted she would from the very beginning. After so much time, however, this did not grant me a sense of satisfaction or vindication. In a fashion I had failed and now I rode off with my king and another woman in tow to rectify the situation that was slowly spiraling out of control. One would assume I would grow accustomed to the world flying to pieces after the previous weeks, but it was just as disconcerting as the day that we had been betrayed by Ser Eddols.

"Why so grim, _Ser Lion_?" came a wry voice ahead of me as we rode along a narrow trail. The woman, Bruna, glanced at me from over her shoulder as she swayed in time with the horses' careful steps.

"There is only one I suffer to address me as such," I answered, "and on a certain level I believe she has earned it. You, woman, are a stranger and I would ask that you either address me as Ser Grey or do not address me at all."

She smiled, "Then you give my Swan great honor."

"She is brave, though at times foolhardy," I acquiesced, "as she has so painfully illustrated by her actions over the previous day."

The woman shrugged, "It is her way, she hurtles forward as she thinks she must. She would die for those she loves or is loyal to. There is something to be respected in that."

"It is not a worthy thing to die needlessly because of it. It neither honors you nor those you love if you throw your life away when it can be avoided." I grunted.

"You are wise and most likely correct." The woman agreed as we rode on.

"_At least this one can be reasoned with." _The thought came unbidden, though I would not have believed it of the woman this morning. She was alternating between courteous directions and gentle orders as we picked our way through the Herfirien ranges. Unlike the Lady-Bard, the woman was more confident in her ability to find the trails that had once given us pause under the guidance of Svenya. The trails were smoother and we rarely paused at all.

The day was beginning to wane and the King was vacillating between wanting to camp and the desire to push on, convinced that Ser Forthwind and Lady Mae were only a little ways ahead. He had been furious and it seemed to drive him with a grim determination. Though I knew that he would never purposely harm the lady, I worried his ire would cloud his sense when he finally had her in his presence. Such passions rarely led to happy ends.

The woman called to him, when the light was fading, "We must desist, your Majesty. We will not find them in the dark. After passing the night, we should find them on the morrow. Let us camp."

The king allowed the woman to rule him with her sound judgment and we stopped. The king accompanied the woman to find firewood while I organized the camp. We were surrounded by fir trees and the area was thick with fallen needles which I attempted to sweep back with my feet to clear a safe place for a fire. Gathering some large stones, I arranged them in a circle and scooped out a shallow pit and waited expectantly for Bruna and the king to return when I heard a shuffling in the trees to the East.

I called out a hail only to be met with eerie, foreboding silence. Unsheathing my sword, I ventured into the trees to discern if there was danger and to eliminate it. The forest could play tricks or it could hide a threat to the unwary. I dared not surrender my vigilance. Low plants and briars snatched at my ankles as I cautiously stepped over the uneven ground with my sword drawn. When I began to suspect that perhaps it had been the wind I heard the shuffling again and bound forward, snatching back a branch and giving a battle cry.

The creature shrieked and fell back onto the ground, shielding itself behind trembling hands. My eyes took in a torn and dirty chantry robe on the prostrate form and I lowered my weapon, internally cursing myself for frightening and almost decapitating a Chantry sister. She was blubbering and I tried to speak to her so she would be put at ease, "Sister, please be calm. I mean you no harm."

She continued to moan, though she lowered her hands and wrapped her arms around herself. She was rocking back and forth, dirt smeared on her face with her tears, behaving as if she could not understand what I was saying to her. Her grieving reached a fever pitch when I leaned over to try and assist her, she screamed again and tried to scrabble back but a tree impeded her from going any further. I raised my hands to reassure her that I intended no harm, "Are you injured? Is there any way I can assist you, Sister?"

The clamoring attracted the attention of Bruna and the King and they located us, the sister still weeping and choking on her tears and me awkwardly trying to calm her with no effect.

"Step back, Ser Grey," instructed Bruna, approaching calmly, "This woman is half crazy with fear. You may mean no harm, but you are causing it by crowding her."

Seeing the sense of her words, I stalked back to stand with the king as Bruna edged forward in a squatting position, humming something barely audible. The woman still rocked herself and moaned, but seemed less agitated. When Bruna got close enough, she began to absently stroke the woman's hair, muttering calmly words that I could not discern, but assumed they were reassuring the woman. After another moment the sister relaxed and leaned into the older woman, her moaning lessening even further until it ended completely.

Bruna beckoned us closer with a free hand before asking the sister calmly, "Where is your Chantry?"

"Gone," the Sister muttered, "burned. The demons in armor, intoning blasphemies, claiming the Bride was false. They were betrayers like Mafereth, destroying the work of the Maker in exchange for power. Songs becoming screams. Chantry bells silenced, silencing hope, silencing help for the needy."

"Who are the demons in armor?" the King asked.

I had a sickening foreboding that I already knew that answer before the sister hissed, "False Templars!"

"Your Majesty, look," whispered Bruna, leaning the sister forward in her arms so that we can see her back. It was scored with what looked like lashes, peaking through torn gaps in the robes. Whoever had beaten her had not even bothered to remove the fabric. She was rickety and weak with what appeared to be hunger, her eyes sunken.

The sister began to sing something softly, brokenly, like a little child remembering an almost forgotten lesson. She rocked in Bruna's arms and called her, "Mother." She hardly seemed in her right mind at all.

"Is she ill with fever?" I questioned, trying to understand the woman's erratic behavior, attributing it to an illness or some kind of shock.

"No," Bruna croaked, still stroking the sister's hair and trying to keep the woman calm, "she is addled. Unless I'm mistaken, this woman has lyrium poisoning."


	28. Interlude 9: Cant of Transfiguration 11

_**Interlude 9: The Canticle of Transfiguration 11**_

_**The Chant of Light**_

_**Transcribed by Brother Dyfed**_

_O Creator, you change not_

_though the world is transformed_

_by the shaping of your hands,_

_bathed in the Waters of the Fade._

_The hearts of men are mutable;_

_capable of corruption_

_but also capable of contrition,_

_capable of covetousness_

_but also capable of compassion._

_We have taken for granted your gift,_

_desiring it like all empty wealth,_

_forgetting the true purpose you intended:_

_to bring us closer to you_

_on the seas of our dreaming,_

_so we might not forget you_

_and so we might recognize your voice._

_Instead, in the waking world,_

_we buy and trade _

_what once flowed freely_

_from your open hands to us._

_It poisons the body,_

_just as desiring it poisons the soul_

_like all gaudy riches horded._

_We were not meant to wield it_

_for our own elevation in the eyes of the world,_

_but we abuse it to our detriment._

_Body and spirit are weak_

_and we corrupt ourselves_

_in the pursuit of the power_

_that rightly belongs to our Maker,_

_the power that should only_

_be wielded by a Creator._

_We are shabby charlatans_

_to presume to hold_

_what only a Creator should touch._

_Have mercy on your misguided children,_

_change our stubborn hearts_

_and make them softer than the stone_

_with which we corrupt and cloy our bodies._


	29. Chapter 19: The Graven Swan

**Chapter 19: The Graven Swan**

**Svenya / Maerwynn**

Whether it was my determination or the encouragement of Rian's presence, we managed to make it to Cloughbark in two and a half days when normally it would have taken three or more by foot. We had taken sparing rests and walked from before sunrise until after sundown, foregoing a fire or hot food. We took turns sleeping and were constantly for the Templars or a random pack of wolves to attack us.

I could tell it bothered Rian that he had left his commander and Ser Sellose with no reassurance or explanation. I presumed that Ser Sellose would be worried, but knew that Ser Lion would be furious. Though we talked little, when we did I strove to make Rian laugh, to which he would reward me with half-smiles or the occasional grin. There was a niggling sense of guilt that I had potentially destroyed his career by luring him off on my own personal quest, but I vowed to make things right and smooth it over with Ser Grey, even if it meant I would have to spar with him again.

As we travelled closer to my one-time home, we could see how far things had deteriorated. We passed by abandoned shacks and burnt out crops. The eeriest sight, though, was the burnt out remains of what was once the Cloughbark Chantry. The charred frame resembled the ribs of a skeleton, a hulking shadow reminding anyone saw it of what it had once been and announcing the immense power that the Cauldron Templars had amassed here. As with everywhere else, it felt like something ominous was lurking in the shadows. We dared not tarry and refused to speak of it as we passed.

We hurried on until I could just make out the mansion in the distance like a curled predator lying in wait. The knot tightened in my stomach and my palms began to sweat as one does when they walk knowingly into a trap. When last I had seen that building, I swore that I would never return and it is a dangerous thing to be foresworn. There is always a price.

We managed to conceal ourselves in the woods surrounding the grounds, waiting for the cover of darkness before proceeding to an old bramble and briar thicket that formed one of the borders of the grounds. It was a natural barrier against thieves and my father had not bothered to construct a wall there since it was so dense. As a child I had used this to my advantage, finding spaces within the growth where I could escape and hide without fear of my older brothers or father finding me and tormenting me. Some of my previous spots had been overgrown for years, but I managed to crawl through with minimal scratches from the sharp thorns. Rian followed closely but had more issues, being unaccustomed to crawling and creeping, receiving a nasty gash on the back of his left hand for all his careful pains.

Once we entered the grounds we cautiously approached the south side of the house, finding rose trellises and ivy, along with a large oak tree that grew past the roof and had some branches close to the windows. We climbed into the tree and crawled near to the windows of the second floor, close to a window that was most familiar to me. Taking one of the small pebbles I had placed in my pocket for the purpose and casting a sincere prayer to the Maker that nothing had changed in the intervening years, I tossed the pebble at the pane of glass. When there appeared to be no response I repeated this process three more times before I saw the pale light of a candle being lit within. I couldn't make out the figure that approached the window until it swung out on its hinge and a face squinted sleepily into the darkness.

After a moment of searching through the dimness, his eyes adjusted enough and he finally saw me perched with Rian in the tree across from him. His eyes went wide before he gave a surprised gasp, "Mae?"

"_Shh_," I hissed, "Quiet, little brother or you will wake the entire household and our purpose will be lost. Step back and move anything away from around the window that might be knocked over. We do not wish to alert anyone of our presence."

Without a word he disappeared and I could make out the faints sounds of shuffling within and the scraping of wood being pulled across the stone floors. After a time I heard the command, "Go!" from within and I made a leap from the tree into the mansion, followed by Rian.

While I had been graceful and avoided any collisions, Rian was not as nimble. He knocked a small table to the floor and we all froze with its wooden clatter, listening. The sound of footsteps echoed somewhere in the halls and Murchad hurried us into a wardrobe before a guard arrived at his chamber door.

"Is there anything amiss, sir?" I could hear the muffled demand through the wardrobe door.

My brother smoothly answered, "I awoke to use the chamber pot and tripped over a table in the darkness."

"Sorry to have bothered you," was the guard's reply before leaving and my brother released us from our dusty hiding place.

On being released from the wardrobe, I received an enthusiastic embrace from Murchad. It had been so long since I had last seen him. He was a foot taller, his hair was still as brown as mine, but short, and his eyes still twinkled mischievously, "Well, sister dear, you have not forgotten how to make an entrance."

As much as I wanted to tease and make light banter, my purpose hung heavily on my shoulders, "Is mother still the same?"

"Yes," he answered, his smile fading at the edges, "She will not wake. We can just barely feed her and assist her to swallow water in this state."

"Why hasn't father sent for an Avvar wise woman, like Bruna?"

The laughter the spat forth from Murchad was mirthless and tinged with bitterness, "Even if he could be torn away from his current pursuits, the Templars have caused the Avvar tribes to shun the nearby mountains for fear of winnowing raids. In the last year many have fled to the higher plateaus where the Templars dare not pursue them."

"I saw that the Chantry had been burned as well. I had heard that the sisters had been ousted, but I was shocked to see the building so defaced," I whispered in dismay.

"The Templars did not just oust the sisters, Mae. Some refused to leave, claiming that their holy mission compelled them to stay. The Templars accused them of sedition against the arling and imprisoned them in the fortress in Swidden." Murchad explained grimly, "That I believe was the first blow that begat Mother's current condition. Their plight fell hard on her and she even argued with Father, claiming that the Maker would not stand for such outright blasphemy and disrespect. He had her locked in her quarters and the door was only opened to have food brought to her. He claimed he would not suffer insubordination from her or anyone and that he would see her sent to Swidden too if she further angered him."

I could feel the blood drain away from my face as Murchad informed me of what had happened. It was not long after that when my mother took to her bed with illness, but it was months of emotional deterioration before she could no longer wake. I swallowed and nodded, my mouth feeling like sheep's wool, "We have little time then. I will have to dreamwalk to find mother in the Fade. If it is not too late, we might be able to bring her back. Then we will make plans to evacuate her from the house and smuggle her to Herfirien."

"Dreamwalking?" Rian asked, confused by the unfamiliar term.

Turning to him, I explained, "It is an old custom among the Avvar tribes that a wise woman can walk in the Fade and return a lost soul to a body, provided the body still lives."

"Isn't that magic?" Rian further inquired, looking troubled.

I shook my head, "Not quite. All people walk in the Fade when they dream, even those who are not mages. If one focuses enough, one can maneuver through the Fade purposely rather than be forced by the Fade's eddies and whims. It would be far more dangerous for a mage to do this because they naturally attract demons because of the nature of the power they are endowed with and their ability to manipulate the Fade, shaping it to suit their purposes."

"Are you sure about this, Mae?" Murchad worried, "I know Bruna taught you the means, but have you ever done this?"

"There are limited options. Either I do this or Mother will slip away." Laying the realities before them, Murchad and Rian did not look pleased but were unable to argue.

Finally Murchad conceded, "If you must do this, what do you require?"

"Take me to her. It will be easier if I am in the same room. I will need you to keep a look out. Rian will sit with me and assist as necessary. Everything else I require I have with me," I explained, gesturing to my satchel dangling from my shoulder.

"Me?" squeaked Rian.

I implored him with my eyes, "I will need you to help me maintain my connection to the waking world. If we fail that then everything will become dire. I trust you."

Following Murchad out of the room, we crept down near silent halls. Murchad knew the guards rotations and the order of their rounds in the halls so we were able to enter Mother's room in moments without being caught by surprise. Once inside, I looked to the large bed in the center of the chamber. The figure of my mother lay inert amid the cushions and coverlets. A dying fire flickered in the grate of the fireplace, casting ominous shadows across her pale face like fleeting specters. She was so still I feared that she might have stopped breathing and I was too late, but a light breath danced across my cheek as I drew closer to examine her. Her skin seemed almost translucent, her eyes slightly sunken in their sockets. Someone had neatly plaited her silvery gray hair, framing her head against the pillow, and her hands were folded across her chest. Even asleep she was too still.

I pulled from my bag the figure that Bruna had given me, along with a silken scarf. Wrapping the swan against the inside of my palm with the scarf, I began to explain in hushed tones to Rian, "I shall lay down next to my mother and you will sit on the other side of me. It should only be moments before I drift off. You may hear me mumble in my sleep or hum to myself. Pay no attention. If I should appear to become troubled or begin to thrash about, press the figurine into my hand through the silk. Do not be afraid, doing this will not affect you. Just be vigilant and do not doze."

"On my honor," Rian breathed, trying not to seem as scared as I knew he was. I took his hand into my empty one and squeezed it reassuringly.

After that I reclined next to my mother and closed my eyes. Listening to the room I could just barely make out the shallow, steady breath of my mother near my ear. I felt the quilts against my back as my body sank slightly into the bed. I could hear the occasional pop or crackle from the fire. Just at the edge of the room next to the door my brother fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other and making an almost imperceptible creak as he leaned into the door itself, listening to the hallway beyond.

The world seemed to close in and I gripped the graven swan a little tighter, noticing that it seemed to become unnaturally warmer against my skin with a vague pulsating sensation, like the beating of a heart and I wondered if it was my own heart beating that I felt or if the figure had suddenly been imbued with life. Panic started to swell as I considered the seriousness of such an action that I was taking, what I was risking by entering the Fade in such a fashion. To stave off the fear, I began to stammer a song that I had heard Bruna sing before,

"_The paths I walk can be dark,_

_The road ahead may be stark,_

_Though my companions are fears,_

_Though my libation is tears,_

_I am bound by a solemn geas,_

_I am bound to the distant seas,_

_Beyond the edge of dreams, _

_Though hopeless it seems,_

_There remains unbroken things,_

_Protected by a black swan's wings."_

I am not sure if I had begun to drift, but I could almost swear that I felt a gentle brush of lips against my forehead and a soft whisper of Rian's voice saying, _"Tread carefully, Svenya. Do not fail to return to me or I will find a way to follow after you."_

With that I noticed that my body was enveloped with a sensation of sinking into warm, prickly water, almost like being in a bath with thousands of soft needles brushing against your naked skin. The world and all its sounds continued, but were farther away, fading to the back of my mind and I opened my eyes to look over at my mother again and I saw only mist and the pale trunks of trees not far from me.

I bolted upright, finding myself in an empty clearing surrounded by poplar trees, likely ghostly sentinels. The grass was yellowed, as if it had been dying and felt brittle against my skin, crackling as I moved. The air was misty and I could not see beyond the first row of trees. All was silent.

My clothes were gone, replaced with a soft brown shift and my feet were bare. I carried nothing in my hands and my hair hung loosely around my face. Tentatively I reached my fingers up and ran them over my face and found my mask securely in place, which was bizarrely comforting and familiar though everything else around me was foreign.

Suddenly light was eclipsed from above me as a shadow flew overhead with a graceful beating of large black wings. I was certain I could make out the outline of a swan high above me and it was flying beyond the tree line. Without another thought I tore off at a run in the direction I saw it fly, plunging into the forest of specter trees and just barely noticing the sting of nettles against my bare feet, but I could not lose the swan. It was the only guide I had on this side of the Veil.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_Sorry this took so long. We had a mass illness at my house over the past month. Everyone got sick and, just when we thought it had finished, everyone got sick again with something new. Then the allergies began to hit. _

_I am glad to be back working on this again. There are major things ahead - not all of them good. It could get VERY dark folks so bear with me._


	30. Chapter 20: The Woman Waiting

**_Author's Note: Just a warning, this chapter has earned the M - rating for violence against women and a rape sequence. Be aware of this before you read and if such things are upsetting for you then please skip this chapter. You have been warned._**

* * *

**Chapter 20: The Woman Waiting**

**Arlessa Ayleth Crewe**

_"Not all beings in the Fade are evil. Some are just and can be moved with compassion for the suffering of mortals…"_

I should know, I have been here for a long time, waiting.

I had been told the old stories as a little girl. The stories taught me all I should have known. If only I had listened. If only I hadn't scoffed at them once I became a woman, thinking I knew so much better than the stories.

"_Svenya was betrothed by her father to a powerful lord and did not meet this lord until the day of the wedding. On that fateful day, the first time she looked on her husband she was greatly distressed…"_

The first time I saw Donngal Crewe, he appeared to be everything that I had been told. His read hair framed a strong nose and jaw that fit a handsome face. It was his eyes, though, the eyes gave him away. They had a yellow hue that resembled a fox. Those eyes were hungry with something that could never be sated. Those eyes perused me on that first meeting like a predator sizing up potential prey. How grateful I was that I could not see any farther into his mind. If only I had heeded my first instinct to run…

His father had recently passed away as had his older brother; he needed a wife to cement an alliance with Herfirien. Politically it made sense. I was of an eligible age and he was only five years older than I. Since Cloughbark was the next arling to us, I would be close to home and able to visit my brother and family as I pleased. I could not back out of the contract my father had bound me to in his desire to provide for my comfort. I consoled myself with the reassurance that I could gentle Donngal, help to mold him into the just and compassionate arl he had the potential to be like my father. If only…

I realized my error that first night after the Chantry had blessed us and the guests had gone home. I was finally alone with my lord husband. The fire crackled in his room, spitting sparks from a particularly stubborn, heavy oak log as it had just begun to burn slowly. He closed the door, casting me a long look before he locked it with a small gold key that made a less than reassuring click. The ring on my finger and that gold key in his pocket signified how completely I was trapped.

He sauntered over to me, pinning me with his gaze, never taking his eyes from me as he drew closer. When he was only a few feet away from me, he grabbed a chair from near the fire and purred as he sat down, "Now, _my_ treasure, take your trappings off so that I may more closely inspect _my_ new acquisition."

My mouth went dry; I could not find words to speak. No man had ever seen me without my clothes and, though he was my husband, I suddenly felt shy. I felt like a deer frozen in a clearing as a hunter sites it with a crossbow and the sense of doom enveloped me.

My hesitation was not met with approval from my lord husband, and his voice became terse, impatient, "Come now! Do as you are bid. I command you to remove your clothes or are you simple and hard of hearing?"

My fingers clumsily fussed with the buttons and laces that graced my gown. The gown had been lovingly sewn by my grandmother and had been worn by my mother on her wedding day to my father. The embroidery at the cuffs and bodice had been painstakingly rendered to resemble the mountain flowers that bloomed near our home, reminding us of the land that bore us and our ties to it. Mother had proudly presented it to me and helped me dress that morning for some of the laces could be tricky to reach for one alone. Now I trembled visibly to untie the laces that lined the back just beyond my reach as I was scrutinized by my impatient husband.

"Enough," the sudden growl thundered as my husband got up from his perch with exasperation in his gait, cursing me as he approached, "foolish girl. Can you not perform a simple task? Since you cannot even undress yourself I will assist you magnanimously." With that, he gripped me by the arm and braced me as he grabbed a handful of laces in the back in the other hand and unceremoniously ripped them with one harsh pull. The sound of the fabric tearing pulled a sob from my own throat that I tried vainly to stifle, pressing the palm of my hand to my lips as tears spilled down my cheeks.

"Now, finish taking off the dress." He urged irritably, pushing me away from him slightly so that he could watch with his arms crossed.

Tenderly I finished pulling down what remained of the gown, allowing it to pool around my feet, and gingerly stepped out of its discarded folds. The light of the fire danced across my pale skin, dappled with pale freckles. My limbs were long and lean from hours of walking the land with my brother, seeing to the animals and the people that relied on our family for their livelihoods. I was completely naked save for the pendant displaying my family's seal of a prancing mountain goat against dark green enamel, framed in silver. I raised my teary eyes uncertainly to my husband, hoping to see some kind of approval or favor.

"You look like a brindled fawn," he chided, "all legs, skinny, no meat to be seen anywhere. You have no softness, no curves. How can a man's head be pillowed by these?" To make his point he reached out his hand and harshly grabbed my breast, squeezing it in a punishing grip. More tears ran down my cheeks, but I managed to remain silent.

"My father said skinny ones are not good breeders," he roughly pulled me with a bruising hold on my arm closer to the fire so that he could examine me more closely. Walking around, circling me to look at me at every angle, again he reminded me of a predator, hungry, but at the same time appraising, deciding if the meal was worth the effort.

"In two years," he warned, squaring off before me again and raising my chin with a finger so that he could look into my teary eyes, "if you do not provide me with an heir, I will declare you as barren and send you back to your parents. I will not be made a fool. You are my property until then. Understood?"

I nodded as well as I could with my chin levered against his finger.

It seemed like something broke in that moment. His hand dropped to the chain holding the pendant around my neck and tugged, ripping it from my throat much as he had ripped away the laces of my dress. The suddenness of the action caused me to lurch forward as the chain cut into my neck before breaking, leaving a harsh red line at my nape. The pendant was thrown to the floor and crushed under his heel before he grabbed me, lifting me into his arms momentarily before tossing me punishingly onto the large bed at the center of the room.

I shrank back into the pillows while he took a moment to remove his tunic and breeches before pouncing, falling on me like a falcon after a small, white mouse. Underneath him, I could barely breathe, his weight was crushing me as he pinned my wrists to the bed with one hand and raked his other over my breasts and down my body, his fingers leaving bruises wherever they roamed. I whimpered in fear at one point only to be struck soundly on the jaw as he commanded, "Silence!"

He bit my neck so hard I thought blood would flow, before moving his fangs to my breasts, all the while pinning me and I dared not move. He dug his nails into my hips and buttocks, grinding his growing hardness against me before moving off me enough to rest his hand between my legs. He grinned evilly into my face as he crudely forced a finger inside me as far as he could, watched me wince with the pain. When I seemed to be wincing less he forced a second finger in with the first, thrusting with jagged strokes, causing me to bite my lip and suck in my breath so as not to cry out.

Once satisfied with my responses, he then maneuvered himself over me again and with his hand guiding him, he forced himself inside me. I felt like I was being ripped in half as he pushed in, stinging, burning with every hard thrust and I turned my head into a pillow and bit down to prevent screaming. It was agony and he grew rougher, more fevered with every passing moment until abruptly he groaned with one final push and collapsed on me.

After a moment he withdrew and I could feel myself throbbing with the hurt he had caused. I closed my eyes tight, praying to the Maker that it was over, afraid to move, afraid to cry, afraid to breathe. I felt him roll over on the bed and draw away from me, the feather mattress shifting with his weight, his back to me. He lay there for a moment and I wondered if he had fallen asleep before he sat up, stretched his muscles languidly and gathered his clothes from the floor, putting them on briskly. He paused a moment to look down at me with an air of gloating, his mouth in a crooked half-smile, before he walked through the chamber door without a word.

I was in shock; I hurt, the bite marks and bruises were readily apparent in the fire light, a trickle of blood between my legs announcing that I had been fully claimed by my lord husband. I managed to hold back my trembling enough to sit upright and gazed around my new room, my eyes then wandered vaguely before coming to rest on my discarded gown and the broken pendant that glittered in the firelight. I forced myself to stand, gathered the torn fabric from the floor by the bed and walked on unsteady legs to where the pendant lay before collapsing in a naked heap, snatching the broken necklace into my hands, pressing it to my cheek and sobbing with it into the remains of my grown.

How long I stayed like that I am unsure, but I froze when I heard the door handle turn and the creak of someone entering the room. I cowered in the firelight, clutching the fabric to me, covering my bruised nakedness, waiting for a blow or a harsh word, but after a moment gentle hands patted my shoulders and helped me up, guiding me back to the bed. A gentle feminine voice called, "Rose, have a bath drawn in my room. We will bring Arlessa Ayleth there once it has been prepared."

Gentle fingers stroked my hair, soothing me, wiping my tears away as a motherly voice whispered, "I'm sorry, child. I wished to spare you this. I had hoped it would be different for you."

I finally focused enough to look up into a weathered, regal face framed by scarlet hair tinged with streaks of soft gray at the temples and scattered around her crown. She smiled apologetically as she wiped my face and examined some of the bruises. It took me a moment to collect myself enough to realize that this woman was my mother-in-law, the Lady Carys, who I had only briefly met before the ceremony but had not had an opportunity to converse with.

When Rose returned, the two of them dressed me in a loose robe and flanked me to guide me across the hallway into Lady Carys' room. The two women gently ministered to my needs, bathed my injuries, and applied soothing balm when necessary. Under their tutelage I learned how to survive as a woman within the Crewe household, maintaining my dignity in the face of outright brutality.

Rose, a lovely girl with light auburn hair and green eyes, was a woman only two years my senior but seemed vastly older than I. She had been a servant in the house from the time of being a young child. She was in a similar situation as I, for she had been singled out by my husband at a young age for his amorous advances with his burgeoning manhood and had none of the advantages that I possessed. Her camaraderie and empathy enabled me to withstand some of the more brutal nights. My mother-in-law did her best to assist and shield us, though she could not do so outright without facing the same wrath she had come to expect from her own husband. Often we retreated to Lady Carys' room and tried to fill our time with needlework, music and stories.

After the first couple of months, I received the blessed news that I was with child. In this I found some solace since my mother-in-law could openly request that my husband allow me some privacy and quiet for the sake of the unborn heir that I carried in my belly. The reprieve from his brutal ministrations for me, however, was not a blessing for Rose. When he was unable to bed me, his attention returned to her and our roles became reversed. Lady Carys and I cared for her on those long winter nights after Donngal's dark passions were spent and he retreated again to his own rooms. Mere months after me, we also found that she was with child, but she could not claim the respite that I had.

Shortly after her body began to show her fruitfulness, she lost the babe in one particularly brutal night under the care of my lord husband. It was a heavy blow for the three of us: Rose, Carys and I. He had barely stopped short of killing her in his rage and we feared that he might turn on me, but he was suddenly called away to administer to some affairs of the arling. He left to meet with the Arl Gethin Boese of Swidden and was his guest for two months. We found out from varying gossip in reports that Donngal had developed a friendship with the arl's son, Leofrik, and the two of them spent much time whoring and drinking to pass the time.

In his absence, Donngal's mother ministered to the needs of the arling and kept everything running. Both Rose and I were spared for a time and she was able to heal from the loss of the child. Shortly before the winter broke and I was great with child, we received word that he was returning and everything returned to much as it had been before.

After the birth of Fendril and a "discrete" healing time, my husband returned his attention to my bed, though he was more subdued with me, as if some of his darkness had been exorcised in his time with Leofrik Boese. He was more calculating now, more concerned with what would come later. Occasionally he would return to the man's company for weeks at a time, usually once or twice a year and his violence would be sated somewhat, though I shuddered to think how that was possible.

When I became pregnant with Ronan, Donngal again haunted the bed of Rose and again she became with child, but this time he left to visit in Swidden before she began to show. For fear for her life, Lady Carys and I made a plan to save Rose from my husband's clutches out of fear that another bout of his passion on finding her pregnant would prove the death of her.

My mother-in-law sent Rose to Amaranthine with a guard of two men and enough money to provide for her journey and then some. Carys had family there, since she was distantly related to the Howe family and sent word through a missive for the Howes to find Rose a berth within their household, recommending her in glowing terms.

The night Rose left we clung to each other and cried. She was closer than a sister to me and to be separated from her nearly ripped what was left of my heart from my chest. I knew that it was the only way to save her and so I bestowed the broken remains of my pendant as a remembrance, kissed her cheek and watched as she escaped into the darkness with the men hand-chosen by Lady Carys to convey her to Amaranthine and safety.

When Donngal returned to find that Rose had been sent away by his mother, he was furious. It was the one time that I witnessed his ire being turned upon his own mother. He beat her with his fists, blackening her eyes and splitting her lip. He seemed possessed by a demon that night and I could not stand by and watch for fear he would kill her. I threw myself over her, taking some of the heavy blows before stopping himself to drag me away from her, throwing me against a wall and holding me there, his hand tightly gripping my neck. The heat of his sour breath as he leaned his face into mind was scalding, but he was caused to pause and release me when he heard a weak voice from behind him intone darkly:

"_Let this curse fall on you alone, harming not your flesh and bone. All you desire will remain beyond your reach, while at fate you endless screech. Let the blood you spill mark your head, and cling to you until you are dead. The violence you readily bestow will become a source of your own woe. Those who willingly follow your ways will come to a premature end of days. Those who refuse to follow your design are the only heirs of mine who will rule this land and beyond long after you have gone. Never claim surprise, man of hungry yellow eyes, when all you favor is torn away, the Maker hears the words I say. You have formed your destiny, so let what I said ever be."_

Lady Carys hissed these words through her swollen lip and her eyes glittered within her bruised face, her finger was extended accusingly towards her son. Donngal's face was white and his eyes wide. I had never seen fear upon his face, but it was blatantly there now as his lips opened and closed, no sound issuing forth. He flexed his fist once where it hovered over me in midair before abruptly lowering it and stalking out of the room, leaving me behind with Lady Carys.

I went to her side and cradled the woman I recognized as a mother in my arms. The strength and power that she had exuded only moments before seemed to ebb away now and she was once again fragile. Carys looked into my face before speaking again, "You and Rose were the only daughters that the Maker saw fit to allow me. I suppose that was a blessing, since my husband would have used and abused any girl-child of my body much the same way he did to me. I was able to save Rose from Donngal, but I fear that I have only managed to further ensnare you. Forgive me, for my time is running short and I will leave you alone with him before too long. I am very sorry, Ayleth"

"Hush, Mother Carys," I pleaded, still fearing that Donngal would return and exact further retribution, "it will be well again. This too shall pass. We will be quiet and he will leave us be. All will be well."

"Someday…someday all will be well. Someday we will all be free." She agreed weakly, smiling sadly as I continued to rock her before a servant plucked up enough courage to enter the room and assist me in caring for her injuries.

Ronan was born, screaming at the world a week later, and the week after that Lady Carys was laid to rest without a word. My husband spit upon her grave when he thought no one was looking and allowed himself to grow complacent enough to forget her curse upon him. After a few months he returned to his wrathful ways of which I was the sole recipient, even when I was pregnant with the twins, Donngal did not stay his heavy hand.

"_In the years that followed she suffered in silence under the persecution of her husband, causing her to feel completely alone and helpless. Many nights she cried herself to sleep, but even in her sleep she had no relief and often her troubles followed her into her dreams…"_

The children grew and, when my husband deemed them old enough, they also became recipients of his bile. Fendril and Ronan witnessed their father's cruelty first hand and slowly began to adapt his habits much to my horror and Donngal's delight. They were the heirs he wished to mold and I was powerless to stop them. Over time they began to despise me much as Donngal despised his own mother for her weakness and inability to stand against him and his own father.

When the twins were born, I was attended by an Avvar woman named Bruna since they came early as a result of Donngal's passion one evening. She saw to my needs and helped me to heal and took care of the twins. After months of slow recovery and her caring for us, it seemed natural to employ her as a nanny for the little ones. Perhaps something about her reminded me of Carys and she made me feel safe. Inversely, Bruna made Donngal uneasy and he made avoided her and therefore rarely saw the twins. The children became Bruna's shadow and I allowed it for she offered sanctuary where I could provide none.

In the evenings I would creep to the twins' nursery and listen to the comforting sound of Bruna telling stories. The children still loved me then. They would crawl into my arms and hug me close, trusting me to not hurt them. Their trust made my heart ache, but they could not understand how things would change.

I again found myself with child, but this time Donngal's brutality was too much to overcome. One cold night my last child, a daughter, was born still and silent onto a bed soaked with blood. Bruna could not save the baby, but managed to save me, for good or ill. After fevered nights of sleep, I awoke to the sounds of Bruna singing at my side and my Maewynn crying for me to wake up. At the time she must have been eight winters gone. I do not remember what I dreamt in the passage of time, only that I had been called back by Bruna's voice.

Weeks later, when I became stronger, Bruna informed me that I would be unable to bear more children as I had been too greatly damaged by my husband to recover fully from it. I was too numb to feel sorrow; I had been broken by the losses heaped upon me that I found I could no longer care. My only comfort by that time was that Murchad and Maewynn were overlooked by my husband and it enabled them some semblance of peace. I was allowed to send them during the summer season to Herfirien where I knew my brother would dote on them as I was unable to do for fear they would be taken from me as well. Distance from Cloughbark meant safety for them and part of me hoped that Trian would fully adopt them since Donngal had no use for them with Fendril and Ronan as his intended heirs and Trian had no children of his own.

When Murchad and Mae would reluctantly return to Cloughbark after their seasons of freedom, I was hungry to hear of their exploits and adventures in my one-time home. They would humor me and describe every moment in minutest detail and I would claim a sense of freedom for myself vicariously through their stories.

My children continued to grow and with age came understanding. Bruna and I could no longer hide what their father was for their brothers had grown to mirror him. The abuse that was heaped on them was in turn heaped upon the younger, more helpless siblings. To remove them from their influence, Bruna would take the twins on walks into the deep woods, along Avvar trails that my husband and older sons were unable to navigate in their ignorance. Eventually even that was not enough. At one point, when Mae received the most hideous treatment at the hands of my irate lord husband which left her scarred, she escaped in the dead of a snowy night.

I feared that in her haste she had gone into the snow and frozen to death to escape, but Bruna shook her head and promised to find her. Murchad was left behind to comfort me, acting as a worried shadow. It would be weeks before we would receive word from Herfirien that Mae had gone there and was recovering from an illness. Once the winter season had abated and the roads were clear, my brother escorted her and Bruna home. Before they arrived my husband threatened me that he would take Murchad and give him to the Templars for initiation if I said anything amiss to Trian. I knew of their brutality, the rumors of what they had been doing to our countryside had reached me and I feared that those monsters would break my gentle son, so I held my silence and received my daughter into the hole of a life that was my prison.

When Mae came of age, my husband began brokering an alliance with Swidden and his fond companion in debauchery, Leofrik Boese. Leofrick had inherited his father's lands with the older man's sudden death. The death had been a subject of gossip for many, since Gethin Boese had always been a healthy man before he succumbed to a wasting illness. It was baffling, but none dared to question it. It was Donngal's wish to unite Cloughbark and Swidden.

Mae had allowed many outrages to befall her, but did not allow my husband to harm others. That was the weakness my husband exploited. When she refused to submit, Donngal threatened to turn Bruna over to the Templars, who would certainly kill her. After Donngal had laid out his plans, he left behind my daughter in fury and I was helpless to console her.

_"How could you stand there?" she demanded, "How could you say nothing? Is it not enough that you have stood by and allowed this," her hand fluttered near her marred cheek, "but you would also let him harm Bruna without a word?"_

That was the last time I saw Mae. Both my husband and I underestimated her. She stole from the house that night and escaped with Bruna. I received word later that Bruna had established herself in my brother's household at Herfirien, but Mae was nowhere to be found. Even the inquiries and spies sent into the rest of Thedas brought no word of her. She had disappeared, as if she had been swallowed by the Fade.

The land in which I dwelt was destroyed in slow increments. With Leofrick's help, my husband embraced the Templars and allowed them free reign on our countryside. The people feared them and feared my husband because he held their leash, lord of Cloughbark. The Avvars retreated under the Templars advancing. Our own people were eventually taken by the Templars, leaving fields unattended and livestock to fend for themselves. The food stores became scant but my husband seemed to not notice as we were running short of people to till and harvest the land.

It was not until the Chantry was threatened that I dared to speak up. Interestingly enough, unlike the passionate rage of his youth, it was my husband's cold fury that undid me. He locked me away and allowed me no interaction with anyone. The servants who brought me the food were too terrified to defy my husband and would not even look at me. The only sympathy afforded me was my son, Murchad, who I dissuaded from doing more for fear that my husband would fulfill his threat from long ago and hand him over to the Templars for training. My life was reduced to a box and my only escape in my dreams.

"…_Svenya went to sleep and dreamed of a vast lake in a clearing surrounded by trees and shrouded with mist. It was so peaceful that Svenya sat at the water's edge and dangled her feet in the water. …"_

When I passed into the Fade, it was as if I had returned home. I found a sanctuary and was attended by gentle ladies who neither pressed me nor asked questions. I was permitted to exist in peace. No one chased me away or forced me to leave. Time was interminable, it did not matter. All that mattered was that it was far from my husband.

One woman kept me constant company, a woman in a black cloak, who sang with a soft voice and took my hand when we walked the byways of a small island in the center of a lake. She made sure that I was comfortable and when she had to leave me to fulfill her responsibilities, I would sit on the lush grass and dangle my feet in the cool water.

Here I have stayed, waiting for something that eludes me. Perhaps I wait for Lady Carys to fetch me and help me to cross into the border I have been instructed to never cross until I am given leave. Perhaps I wait for Bruna to fetch me and help me return back to the waking world as I vaguely recall her doing once before, long ago. All I know for certain is that I will not travel alone again into the wilderness of this place.

I did not expect the woman in brown to scream my name from across the water as she waved frantically to me from the pebbled shore opposite. She was both familiar and strange, her face concealed behind a mask. The confusion was evident upon my face, but I raised my hand in greeting, unable to speak. This seemed to signal something to the woman for at that moment she threw herself into the water and began to swim to reach me, her strokes frantic like the beating of a bird's wings. She was fighting a current that I could not see which pushed her back with each stroke forward until she was gasping with the exertion.

To encourage her, I kneeled on the shore and reached out my hand to catch her once she was close enough. The water began to exhibit I choppiness I had never before witnessed here and it swiped the mask from off the woman's face, but she noticed it not, so focused was she on her goal. With one final burst of strength she surged forward and clutched at my waiting hand and I pulled her ashore and into my waiting lap.

She coughed and choked a few moments as she clung to me and I soothed her with my rocking, her head tucked under my chin. When she finally pulled back enough for me to see her I was startled by my own mother's eyes and her face, but it was the scar, the spidery lines down her face that caught my memory and made me more alert than I had been in a very long time and I whispered uncertainly, _"Mae?"_


	31. Interlude 10: The Swan's Eggs

_**Interlude 10: The Swan's Eggs**_

_**A Folktale**_

Once there was a beautiful woman with bewitching green eyes and auburn hair in full waves that framed her face. As beautiful as she was, she was also barren and had no child of her own. She was a devout woman and prayed daily to the Maker for a child to bless her and her husband, who was a faithful knight to his arl.

The arl appreciated the knight's loyalty and greatly honored him above all, but the arl's younger brother was jealous of the knight's prestige and lusted after the knight's lovely wife. He felt a deep envy that steadily poisoned his soul and hardened his heart into onyx. Eventually, he planned to rid himself of the knight and usurp the loyal man's position in the arl's favor. His plotting consumed him night and day until fate intervened.

A dispute erupted between the arl and a neighboring bann. The arl's brother saw his chance and counseled the arl to send the knight as an emissary to the bann in order to broker a peace. The arl, trusting in the knight's fairness and loyalty, agreed to the brother's recommendation. He called the knight before him and explained his desire for him to travel to the bann and sue for peace, giving the knight a letter sealed with wax and the impression of the arl's signet that guaranteed the knight safe passage as a diplomat for the arl. The knight heartily agreed to the request in the interest of peace and only stopped briefly to bid his beloved wife farewell before going off to fulfill his duty to his arl.

The knight, true to his nature, brokered a fair peace for both the arl and the bann. It was agreed upon by both oath and steel in the sight of the Maker before the knight took his leave to return to his arl with the news. He rode with great anticipation to return to his beloved and his king and refused to stop to rest, but at the border of the bann's lands, the knight was ambushed and killed by an assassin that the arl's younger brother had commissioned. The knight fought valiantly, but he was overwhelmed and cast to the ground before having his throat cut and left for the wolves. The assassin, to prove that his job had been completed, brought the arl's brother the letter with the seal.

When it was discovered that the knight was killed within the border of the bann's lands, the bann was blamed and the arl declared open war upon the bann in response to the loss of his devoted servant. The ensuing struggle was bloody and caused vast losses on both sides until it was finally resolved and brought to a close.

The woman, on hearing of her husband's death was inconsolable. She prostrated herself before the icon of Andraste and refused to leave the Chantry until the sisters were frightened that she would take her own life in the throes of her grief. The Maker, fully aware of the evil that had been done to her and in recognition of her devotion, decided to bestow a great blessing upon her.

When the sisters finally succeeded in sending the woman home after a fortnight the woman collapsed in exhaustion upon her bed and did not awaken for a night and a day and another night. On the morning she was roused by a rapping upon her door, which she reluctantly answered after dragging herself from her bed. Outside was a wizened old woman dressed in a black dress, carrying a basket covered over the top with a scrap of black velvet fabric. The old woman smiled warmly at the grieving wife and offered her the basket with the words, "Your husband sent this for you and I was charged to deliver it. Bring it into your home and care for it and bring glory to the Maker."

Confused, the wife peaked under the velvet and was startled to see a black swan peer quizzically back at her with a beak the deep crimson color of blood against its black plumes. The swan was quite alive and nestled gently in the basket and the wife nearly dropped it in her shock, jerking her head up to question the old woman. The wizened old woman, in less than a heartbeat or a breath had stolen away, leaving the grieving wife alone in the doorway holding the basket with the swan.

The woman carried the peaceful bird into her home and the bird roosted in the corner of the woman's kitchen close to the fireplace and made no sound or fuss. As instructed, the grieving wife cared for the bird, feeding it and making sure its needs were met while feeling completely baffled by her guest.

Three days after coming to live with her, the swan awoke the grieving wife with a strange, mournful and melodious singing. The wife rushed into her kitchen just as the song stopped and saw the swan standing beside its basket nest, looking expectantly up at her as if requesting her to look inside the basket. Nestled within was a grand egg of gold the size of a large man's fist. The wife carefully lifted it and discerned that it must be solid gold based on weight alone. Once the egg had been removed from the basket the swan climbed back into its nest and tucked its head beneath its wing to rest.

Three days after that, the grieving wife was again awoken by the same strange, mournful and melodious singing. Again the wife rushed into the kitchen just as the song stopped and again she saw the swan standing beside the basket with a look of expectancy. This time, nestled within the basket was a large ruby shaped like an egg the size of a large man's fist. The gem took the woman's breath away as she lifted it and it caught the light streaming in from the window, casting a rich red hue across her kitchen table. When the egg had been removed from the basket the swan climbed back into its nest and tucked its head beneath its wing to rest.

In another three days, the wife was again awoken by the same song and rushed into the kitchen quickly, but again the song was ended before she even came through the doorway. The swan looked up at her with the same expression of expectation and she peered in the nest. This time, nestled within the basket was a large emerald shaped like an egg the size of a large man's fist. Within its depths danced a blue flame that was entrancing and the wife watched it for a number of moments before returning her attention to the swan and became concerned.

The swan struggled to return to its nest and the bird seemed listless in its bright eyes. Concerned that the creature was ill, the woman devoted the next two days to nursing it to help it return to health. The swan, though appearing to appreciate the wife's ministrations, continued to deteriorate. At the end of the third day the bird could hardly lift its head and the woman remained in the kitchen during the night, perched on stool near the basket, stroking the bird gently until she dozed off.

In the morning, instead of being awakened by the sound of the song, she was awakened by the sound of the cooing of babies. As her eyes fluttered open, the wife looked into the basket to see nestled within two infants, a girl and a boy, surrounded by fractured fragments of a bright amethyst colored eggshell. The kitchen window was opened wide and the black swan was nowhere to be seen. The wife was overwhelmed with joy at the arrival of the children and kneeled in an earnest prayer of thanksgiving to the Maker there on her kitchen floor, gathering the infants in her arms.

A week later she dedicated the infants at the Chantry with the names Cedany for the girl and Drake for the boy. When the wife explained the fantastic circumstances of the infants' birth, the sisters were amazed but could not argue with the wife's joy and readily accepted the explanation as a miracle demonstrating the vast mercy of the Maker. The infants were welcomed into the community of faith with graciousness and word spread of the Maker's compassion that provided the woman with the comfort of children in the face of the loss of her husband.

Word of the infants spread and eventually reached the ears of the arl's brother and he decided to try to use the miracle to his advantage. He went to offer courtship to the woman, hoping that she would accept his suit in order to better provide for her children, but the man was to be sadly disappointed. The woman refused his suit, stating that the Maker would provide for her and her children through the fruit of the land that her husband bequeathed to her in his will.

The arl's brother trudged back to his mansion and spent the night gnashing his teeth and tearing his hair, scheming a way to force the woman to accept his suit. Within the dark hours of the night, he orchestrated a plan guaranteed to not fail. He went before his brother, the arl, and stated he feared the woman had made a deal with a malificar and the children were actually the spawn of a demon. In the interest of protecting the people from the potential evil these children could unleash once grown, the arl was advised to imprison them with their mother in a tower. The arl's brother offered graciously to serve as their guardian and would vigilantly observe them for signs of evil. If they showed any sign of possession, then he would execute them.

The arl, greatly concerned for the welfare of his people, agreed to his brother's plan. The woman and her children were shut away in tower with the brother visiting them daily. Every time he visited he tried to woo the woman and she would have none of his advances. She claimed the mercy of the Maker and refused to taint herself with the man's lustful touch.

Three years passed, and the man continued to propose to the woman and the woman continued to refuse him. His disappointment and ire caused his heart to burn like sulfur and he began to resent her in a way that eclipsed his previous lust for her. To revenge himself upon her, he planned to claim that he had seen evil manifest in her children and have them put to the sword by the guards.

The Maker heard the dark wish of the man's heart and caused a kind knight named Percival to ride close to the tower where the woman was imprisoned with the children. On riding by, the good knight could hear the woman weeping out the window far above him and his heart was filled with pity for her grief. He became concerned for the woman and her woe and inquired at the Chantry as to the story of the tower. He was informed of why the woman had been imprisoned with her children, but he felt within his heart that the woman had been wrongly accused and determined that he would help her to escape.

That night, before the arl's brother could ennact his evil plan, Percival stole to the tower in the dark and picked the lock. He released the woman and her children and helped them to steal away into the night; the only things the woman brought with her were the three precious eggs that she felt was the birthright of her children, carrying them in a sling around her neck leaving her hands free to carry her daughter, Cedany, while Percival carried Drake. They travelled for weeks, going from village to village in the hopes of avoiding detection.

The arl's brother begged the arl for aid and sent guards and spies out to search for them, but it was as if the ground had swallowed them. Years passed and the woman and her children finally found a secluded village where they could live in peace Percival remained with the family as their protector and the children's godfather. They tilled the land and brought forth lush crops. The village was blessed by their presence and prospered.

One day, word reached them that the arling that they had once called home was failing, as if the Maker had turned away from it. The woman was dismayed when she thought of all the people she had known and loved. The children on seeing their mother's distress discussed what to do. They felt the Maker whisper to their hearts urging them to return, but they were sorely afraid. They prayed and requested the Maker send them a sign.

The following morning the entire family was awakened by the sound of singing on the morning air: strange, mournful and melodious. They ran outside to see the dark shadow of a great swan circling thrice around their land before flying in the direction of the arling. This sign convinced the family to return, bearing the precious eggs with them.

As they neared their former home, they saw the deterioration and fields scorched by a merciless sun. Children begged for bread on the roadsides. The trees were stripped of their leaves and were dying. The family was moved with compassion. They came to the court of the arl, concealed by dark cloaks except for Percival who came forward, and presented them to the arl as a family blessed by the Maker with the means of saving the arling.

The arl was desperate after witnessing the suffering of his people and agreed to allow the family to share their blessing with the people. The arl and his court followed the woman, her children and Percival out of the castle and beyond its walls into the square. The woman pulled out the golden egg from beneath her cloak, dug a small hole, planted the egg in the ground, covered it with earth and carefully stepped back. A moment later the ground quaked and there was a rumbling like thunder in the sky. Suddenly, with a rain of earth, a great tree burst forth from the ground, covered with golden tinged apples dangling from its branches. The apples filled anyone who ate them with joy.

Then Cedany stepped forward with the ruby egg from beneath her cloak, dug a small hole, planted the egg in the ground, covered it with earth and carefully stepped back. A moment later the ground again quaked and there was rumbling like thunder in the sky. Suddenly coiling vines of red grapes erupted from the earth, coiling around the ground and snaking up any standing piece of timber. The grapes were sweet to the taste and refreshed the soul of any who partook of them.

Finally, Drake came forward with the emerald egg from beneath his cloak, dug a small hole, planted the egg in the ground, covered it with earth and carefully stepped back. A moment later the ground again quaked and there was rumbling like thunder in the sky. Suddenly a great fountain burst forth from the ground, creating a river that quenched the scorched ground of the failing crops. This river enabled the land to become green again and helped to quench the people's thirst.

The arl was grateful and offered them all the riches of his kingdom in exchange for such a wonderful gift. The family refused the arl's riches, but asked for justice in the face of their persecution and revealed their true selves to him. On seeing them, the arl knew that they had been wrongly accused and begged their forgiveness. Their lands were returned to them and they lived the rest of their days in peace. The arl also vowed to execute his brother for his role in their suffering, but the family requested that the unhappy man be shown mercy and merely banished from the land.

The arl's brother was escorted to the border of the land under heavy guard and given a small bag of gold with which to start a new life. He sneered at the paltry sum and lamented his loss of title and esteem, but felt no remorse in his harde onyx heart. He had barely left the border when he was dispatched by the men of the bann whose peace the arl's brother had thwarted years earlier through the villain's plotted assassination of the loyal knight.


	32. Chapter 21: the Elf, the Wolf & Other

**Chapter 21: the Elf, the Wolf and the Other **

_**Svenya/Maerwynn**_

_The world was a blur of gray and tan as it rushed by me, tearing through birch trees, batting away the branches that tried to catch my clothes and limbs. My feet hurts, bitten by nettles, but I kept running, following the elusive shadow of the flying swan just above the trees, catching glimpses of it above the white limbs that reached imploringly to the graceful shape as it glided forward, unimpeded. One sharp branch caught my mask, but without slowing down I gripped the mask to my face and drove forward._

_Just as I thought that I was starting to catch up to the great bird, I tripped over a downed tree. My outstretched hands to break my fall landed in more nettles. Trying to get myself back on my swollen and nearly numb feet, I staggered and looked into the air once more to find no sign of the swan. All was silent and I gasped trying to catch my breath and move toward the direction I had last seen it flying in._

_I broke through the line of trees into another clearing and stopped abruptly, seeing a figure standing there, almost as if she were waiting for me. I drew myself up and mentally willed myself to not tremble. There was no way of knowing what this being was or if it portended good or ill._

_"You chase the swan." The woman observed this in a bemused tone, her lovely face smiling gently._

_"Yes," I answered warily, trying to maintain as much distance between us as possible and still move past her in the direction I desired to continue in._

_The woman nodded, "She returns to her island at the border of the Fade. You should be wary and not stray too far out of your way. You will not wish to trespass into the beyond. It is forbidden."_

_"I am aware," I replied, "but I think she knows of my mother's spirit that has travelled from her body in her dreams. I need to return her to where she belongs."_

_"Quite commendable," the woman allowed, "but be careful just the same. I am travelling in that direction myself and would be happy to accompany you so that you do not become lost."_

_I shook my head, "That is unnecessary!" I insisted, knowing it was dangerous to trust anything that was offered here. As benign as she appeared, she could be anyone, anything. Who knew what lay beneath that veneer of calm and generosity?_

_"Wise girl," she approved, "you were taught well and I can tell that we would have been good friends if the world had moved differently. I will offer you no gifts or favors, I ask nothing in return, I desire nothing from you, I swear by the Maker's mercy."_

_These words were distinctly disarming. I found myself looking her over most carefully upon her swearing that vow. She appeared to be an elf with auburn hair that was braided and the braid crowned her head neatly. She wore simple breeches and a tunic and carried a bow against her back. She continued to smile slightly as I scrutinized her and waited._

_"Are you a spirit?" I finally asked._

_She shook her head, "Spirit I am not, I am only a traveller. I received dispensation to travel here but now I must return. It has been an arduous trip."_

_"Then why help me and delay your return," I questioned, still unsure._

_"I can see you clearly," she explained, "though you think you are hiding it behind a mask. There are many possibilities before you, many roads ahead of you. These roads will not only shape your Fate, but the Fates of others, of people you have come to care for."_

_Thoughts of Rian and Sellose swirled at the edge of my thoughts and she suddenly nodded as if she could see them as well and looked slightly sad, "You are not as guarded as you once were. Things are changing. Be wary, though, those that you care for also have choices to make, choices that you cannot change. All that is certain is that things will move forward."_

_"Who are you?" I gasped, placing a hand on my mask to reassure myself that it was still there, though I might as well have been stark naked since she seemed able to see everything that held meaning for me. I did not want my fortune told; I just wanted to fulfill my purpose and retreat from this place. This woman frightened me though she was no bigger than I and she seemed to be unthreatening. She knew something and I was not sure that I wanted this knowledge._

_"I am someone whose time is over and who watches from a distance what once I was embroiled in, the chaos where you now tread." The words were spoken as if they should make perfect sense, but they jumbled in my ears, teasing something at the edge of my consciousness but not completely coming clear, as if I could see the outline behind a curtain but could discern none of the features._

_She shook her head again and gestured to a place beyond us, "It matters not. Go in that direction. The lady flies to her retreat and your mother is her guest, but you will have to withstand the trials between. I am sorry I cannot be of more help to you. Fare thee well, Mae." She then walked purposely to her left, into the forest of birches and disappeared from view, as if melting into the misty shadows._

_Refusing to dwell on her a moment longer, I charged forward again into the trees opposite where she had disappeared and pushed back branches. The nettles had made me lame and I could not run as quickly as I had before, the pricks on my fingers ached as well. My arms felt like lead, but I pushed onward._

_I reached the edge of the woods and found a vast beach. A large wolf, the size of a horse, lay upon the ground as if resting, but upon my approach it got to its feet and lowered its head. Inwardly I wished I had Rian's sword again with its comforting weight upon my back. Aside from its size, the wolf seemed to be watching me with a gleam of intelligence in its eyes._

_I edged to my right and tried to gauge how far the water was beyond the beast when I suddenly heard a voice emanating from its body, "I am not a mindless beast, my girl. It is rude not to at least address me before taking your leave of me."_

_"I will not converse with demons." I insisted nervously._

_"I am not a demon," the voice reassured with a soft chuckle, "I am an old entity that has been drawn to this place in search of something. What brings you here?"_

_"That is none of your concern," I whispered, tensing my legs to bolt._

_The wolf seemed to make a sound that was a cross between a "woof" and a sigh. It sat back on its haunches and cocked its head to one side, the eyes glowed green in a gray face, "Pity."_

_"Excuse me?" this was not what I had anticipated. I was prepared for an uneventful travel. I was no mage and therefore beneath the interest of most Fade spirits. Since I had crossed over I had come across two different entities, both _claiming_ to not be demons. While the woman seemed innocent enough, this one was not some random spirit. Something about it felt old, very old. At the same time I could sense nothing negative in its manner: no rage, no anger, no desire, and no lust. What I sensed was…curiosity?_

_"I baffle you then," he barked with laughter, greatly amused, "that pleases me for you baffle me as well. I have seen none like you in a very long time, my girl."_

_"I am not your girl," I spat back, feeling slightly irked at its familiarity. There is only one who I would have allowed to address me as such but…._

_The wolf got up on all fours again and seemed to bow slightly, "I apologize, and I intended no offense. I would normally offer a gift to show my goodwill, but I can already tell that you will not accept such things. It will be safer for you to avoid exceptions to such a standard rule of safety here. You travel to the island of the Black Swan. There is something else that lies in wait for you on the path to reach your destination. I have felt it, though I am unsure of what it is. It is a perversion of a spirit here. Not a demon, but just as harmful. It is an amalgam of both the Fade and your world. It is an unfortunate collision of the two. Tread carefully."_

_"Who are you?" I asked before I thought better of the question._

_"I have had many names and those that knew me best were trapped between two places. I am not benign, but I mean you no harm. You have reminded me of a better time and for that I thank you. Now go before I forget my current good will." The wolf seemed to smile with that, showing a mouth full of white gleaming teeth and I immediately began walking again, every hair on the nape of my neck standing at attention. As I quickly put distance between the two of us, I could still feel its enigmatic eyes on me with interest and dared not give it a second glance._

_I walked, my feet sore on what felt like a pebbled beach, but there was no edge of water in sight. It might have been a desert, except the air felt moist with rising mist that would occasionally swirl by in heavy patches. My body continued to feel heavy, but I dared not stop for I feared I would be unable to get up again. To perk up my flagging spirits, I tried to recall Rian's smile and the sound of Sellose's laughter. I even tried to conjure up in my mind the image of Ser Lion's imposing frown, his disapproving eyes as he glowered at me over crossed arms. If he were here he would not allow such indolence. He would be growling at me to keep walking and not lag back. Even I growled at myself, imitating his tone, "Trudge, woman, trudge! Your knights are not here to carry you. You must carry yourself."_

_"But they are here!" came a voice out of nowhere._

_I jumped, startled from my reverie and spun around trying to see what had spoken. The mist was empty and I was alone._

_"Hello?"_

_Nothing answered; there wasn't even the hint of breath. I shivered slightly. A disembodied voice frightened me more than the hulking wolf I had left somewhere behind me. The mist was even more oppressive then and I was frightened that I was walking in circles instead of moving forward. It all looked the same. It all felt the same. It was a large canvas of mist and I was in the midst of it._

_"What if I were to take them?" the voice suddenly came again, "Give them to me. What are they to you? You barely know them. Give me the burden you carry. It is such a heavy thing."_

_"No," I stated firmly, still scanning the mist for a figure or source of the voice._

_The voice laughed, "It would be easy if you just surrendered. Even if you do not give them to me, I will have them. I can take what I want."_

_I closed my eyes and took a breath, concentrating on the sound of the voice. It did not sound like a single voice, but a shifting mishmash of tones, like a whole group of people took turns, each person saying a different word in each phrase and then stringing them together, like something rehearsed. The words flowed like water, flowing from somewhere._

_"You can't have them. I won't let you take them." I spat back._

_"Silly girl," the patchwork phrasing chided, "I already have a hold on them. One quick tug and they will be gone. If I pull there…."_

_As if signaled by the words, I could feel Sellose's face fade slightly in my mind, and I panicked with the influence I could feel a tugging at his image, at my thoughts of him. Mentally I threw myself at my concept of him and embraced it, wrapping myself around it. I immersed myself into everything I could recall of him: the glint of his eyes, his laughter, the way he shrieked that one time he awoke us in the camp, the shy, uncertain way he held my hands when I coaxed him to dance with me in the darkness across the pine needles. I gritted my teeth and snarled, "Let go!"_

_The voice laughed mockingly again, "Fine, what about the _Red Knight_? What about _Ser Lion_? I can settle for one of them."_

_"No!" I bellowed, clutching my thoughts of them to me like a blanket. _

_"Little fool, you cannot stop me," the phrases became sing-song in their tone and pitch. It was toying with me. _

_"Nothing can be taken that you do not surrender," another voice rose up within my own ears. I could have sworn that it was Sellose's voice. I could almost see him standing before me and saying those words, but I could not recall when those words had been spoken. All I knew for certain was that they were his. He had spoken them to me and he meant it._

_I took a steadying breath and stated, beating back the panic, "You cannot have what they have given me. You cannot take what I do not hand you. They are anchored here. Go ahead and pull all you want. They will not budge and I will not be manipulated by you."_

_There was an audible hiss and I suddenly felt something jerk within my mind, but the images of my knights did not waver. They remained set and settled. In fact, I think the image of Sellose crossed his arms and sat down, as if daring the entity to move him against his inclination. I could swear that I could see him grinning at me with that, _"See, I told you so_," gleam in his eyes._

_All of a sudden I was knocked backwards, as if something rammed into me and struck me in the gut. I gasped for air, winded by the blow and my eyes went wide as I looked up at my assailant. Staring down at me was a face I had not seen in many years. It was a face I had been quite familiar with since I had seen it many times in my memory._

_I gazed into the face of a younger me, sans scars. The visage snarled down at me, trying to claw at my face and neck as I fended it off, gripping its wrists. The thing screeched, "Mine, mine, mine…" I just managed to push her off and roll away, scrambling back to my feet, but when I looked for the entity again, it had disappeared._

_One sleeve of the dress had been ripped away in the attack and there was another gash at the neckline causing the dress to gap slightly in front. I tentatively touched my mask again, trying to discern if I was still me in the midst of all the confusion. The mask was the one thing I felt sure of in all of this._

_"I hate you," something howled to my right. I heard something tread heavily, as if circling me, stalking me. I could still see nothing. "You have what I want. It has been teasing me from a distance, but no more!"_

_I could not withstand another attack, but I had no means to defend myself. Rifling through my memory I tried to recall what Bruna had said about being attacked in the Fade. There were so many stories swimming in my head, so many thoughts roiling as I tried to grasp at something that would help. It was like a floundering in my mind as something struck me squarely in the shoulder, once again knocking me to the ground as my side blossomed with exploding pain. At the same time, the sudden jolt caused something to surge forth in my memory and words came to my lips,_

_"Sharp tongue, quick voice,_

_Come to my fingers now,_

_Guard my life, guard my soul,_

_Come fulfill your vow_

_You made to my people_

_So very long ago_

_And taught us your song_

_As only the mountain can know._

_Come blade of the dreamer,_

_Come the visionary dart,_

_Be my protector now_

_As I travel this world apart."_

_As if coming to my call I found a pair of blades in my hands. They were not the long sword that I had become accustomed to wielding over the past month, but they bestowed a sense of rightness as they rested in my fingers. I got to my feet again and looked about me, listening carefully. My ear caught the rasp of labored breathing._

_"You think your little song will save you," the patchwork voice snarled, too angry to maintain itself. All the voices were erratic, talking at different pitches and tones. "You cannot stand against me. I am equal parts of your world and this world."_

_"But you are of neither…" I stated hollowly, a moment of realization dawning, "that is why you hate me. I can walk in both worlds and still have a place. You have nothing. You are alone."_

_There was a shriek as something charged out of the mist at me again, but I moved too quickly, with a slash and a rolling dodge I moved out of the way as the entity screeched by. It stopped suddenly and turned around in a perfect circle that resembled nothing I had ever seen before. Though it tried to mimic me in its form, there were muscles somewhere under the limbs that moved in strange symmetry. My former visage narrowed its eyes at me and its mouth twisted in a strange grimace before the face wavered slightly with a blue light. The form glowed from a dim light within, and its hand reached down to a gash on what should have been its ribs. Seeping through its fingers, instead of blood, was a glowing blue liquid._

_"I hate you." It hissed again before crouching to leap at me, but something barreled out from its left, a dark shadow pounced on it, pinning it to the ground. A set of glowing green eyes glanced up at me out of a gray face as one paw held the struggling entity to the ground._

_"That was entertaining, my girl," the wolf stated, "but I am becoming bored with this one sided display. You have better things to do, I am sure."_

_My mouth went dry and I started to back away as the great wolf turned its attention back to the trapped form on the ground, "and I think I would like to have a discussion with you."_

_I turned on my heel, feeling the blades evaporate from my fingers now that they were no longer needed. I began to walk briskly. This was the second time I had walked away from the wolf and somewhere in the cold pit of my stomach I sensed that the wolf would not allow me to walk away a third time. _

_The mist began to thin away as I made out the sound of rushing water. Squinting my eyes, I continued to move forward, trying to make out what lay ahead. I found myself at the edge of a river or a lake of sorts, but the water was anything but calm. Choppy waves lapped at the shore, though there was no wind and the sky was calm. I gazed out and made out the outline of an island and figure was seated on the edge of it, her feet dangling in the water, with a head of dark black hair bent over to look down into the water. I knew instantly who it was._

_I screamed at my mother, calling her by her name to get her attention, and waved my arms frantically. As if dazed, she slowly looked up and peered at me absently before raising a single hand in greeting. She said nothing, she seemed confused, startled. There was no indication that she knew who I was or why I was there. _

_Unable to contain myself, I threw myself in the water and began to reach my arms into sure strokes in order to reach her. My feet and hands were stinging since they had not completely recovered from the abuse sustained from the nettles. Within moments my muscles started to ache and cramp, but I kept driving myself forward. My mother was within reach on the opposite shore and I was determined to get to her. Gasping to keep my head above water with every pulling stroke, my mouth filled with water a number of times, but it did not taste of the usual brackishness of pond water, but had an aftertaste of black licorice. It made me gag slightly with the unexpectedness of the flavor._

_Every time I looked up it felt like I had come no closer, but still I struggled forward through the water. The waves became choppier, slapping my face. At one point I realized that my mask had come loose and had been swept away, but I didn't care. All I wanted was my mother. It was that latent longing of childhood for the arms of someone to hold you and in that instant a hand grasped me by the risk and pulled me out of the water. Gentle hands stroked my hair and I allowed myself to be held, breathing deeply the distinct scent of mountain laurel and white soap that I had almost forgotten in the intervening years. _

_Drawing back I looked into my mother's face and in that same moment realization dawned on it as she breathed my name, "Mae?"_

"_Mother," I felt the tears well up and I gripped her to me, leaning my face into her shoulder. She still knew me._

"_What are you doing here?" she asked, pulling me back, disbelief etched across her features._

_I sat up a little and explained, "You have been gone for a long time. We have been worried about you, Murchad and me. I came to fetch you and bring you back."_

"_How did you manage to get here?" she questioned, "I had been expecting Bruna, or even…" she did not finish what she had begun to say, as if she thought better of it._

"_It has not been an easy trip," I explained, "I have had to overcome some obstacles. Bruna taught me how to do this a long time ago, but I had never tried it myself. I could not leave you here, though."_

"_Why?" she asked, stunned._

"_Mother, I am so sorry," I began, "The last night I saw you I said such horrible things. I should never have left you here. I should have brought you and Murchad with me as well. I was so angry, I was not thinking. Please forgive me, Mother."_

_She kissed me on the forehead and held me close, "There is nothing to forgive, Mae. You were everything that I wanted you to be and more. You did what I could not. How could I be angry with you?"_

"_Come," I smiled, "we are going back now. You are going to be alright. Everything is going to be alright. I know how to get you back now."_

_She paused and looked at me mournfully, "You should not have come here, Mae."_

_This was not what I had been expecting, "What?"_

"_What would you be bringing me back for?" she asked, "I would be returning to your father. At least here I have some peace."_

"_Mother, your body will die!" I explained, as if speaking to a child who did not grasp the graveness of the situation._

"_I know," she agreed, "but is that such a bad thing? To pass away in this place means that I merely go across the final border. I would be reunited with the Maker, with my family."_

"_I am your family too!" I exploded, "Murchad is your family! Do we not count anymore?"_

_She placed a tend hand on my cheek, "That is not what I am saying. If I return now, then I return to unremitting bondage. You have been able to escape it, but I cannot. I have been mired in the prison too long."_

"_So that is all, you just give up?" I demanded, "You could never stand up to father. Now you get to hide here until you die. Why did I even come here? Why did I risk everything for this?" I pulled away from her and got to my feet, beginning to pace the turf by the water._

"_Be at peace, Mae." My mother pleaded with an imploring in her green eyes as she looked up at me._

_The bombast issued forth from my lips, "I have lost everything. I travelled for weeks to get here. I broke Uncle Trian's heart because I had to come and completely disobeyed his wishes. My friend Rian came with me, risking his commander's wrath, so that he could ensure my safety. Now you sit there and tell me that I should not have bothered?"_

"_I am not as strong as you are, Mae," the soft murmur came._

_I sank to my knees before her, "Then I will be strong enough for the both of us."_

_Her brow furrowed and I continued, "You and Murchad can come with me. I have friends that can help us. We can start over in Denerim. Once we get out of the Cauldron it will be harder for father to track us."_

"_Mae, he would find us." She said this, but seemed unsure._

"_He did not find me when I left. If I did it once I know we could do it. You would not have to do this alone. We can be a family. We can be like the stories. We can have a happy ending." I insisted, grabbing her hand and holding it in both of mine._

"_There are no happy endings, Mae," Mother countered dejectedly._

"_We will have a happy ending if we make one!" the conviction of the words seemed to move her slightly, I could see it in her eyes; "I promise that we will live free from Father."_

_In that moment I felt a distinct tremor, as if something shifted with that vow and the startled look on my Mother's face communicated that she felt it too. One did not dare make idle promises in the Fade. There were things there that had the power to hold you to them._

_I helped Mother to her feet, though we were both a little shaky, and we turned to the water. We had to swim back to the opposite shore and make our way back inland if we wanted to return from the Fade. Though I had been exhausted moments before, I suddenly felt renewed and lowered myself eagerly back into the water. My mother followed me gingerly, cautiously treading a moment before we set off. _

_At one moment, when we were halfway to the other side I glanced back and saw on the island shore the figure of a woman in a black cloak. She seemed to realize that I had seen her and made a gesture of farewell and benediction. In another instant the figure was replaced with a swan taking wing into the air and flying back into a dense mist on the far side of the island._

_The journey back was not as eventful as the journey to the island had been. A sense of calm pervaded my being and I felt no fear. The only vague concern I had was of meeting the wolf again, but he made no appearances. Though my feet and hands ached, I felt lighter in a way._

The world became hazy around me and I suddenly felt as though I were rising to the surface of the water, as if I had been swimming the whole time and I had to come up for air. I could suddenly smell smokiness of the fire in the grate and I could feel the press of the mattress and coverlets against my back. The comforting warmth of the graven swan still rested against my palm. As my eyes fluttered open I heard the sudden gasp of Rian's voice as he said, "Svenya."

Then I heard laughter, harsh, grating, and I turned my head to see Rian being forcibly held back by two large, armed men. I caught the figure of Murchad struggling against the grip of another man at the other side of the room. My own mother gasped and moaned slightly as she regained consciousness, seeing the unwelcome sight that had met my own eyes.

I finally focused on the figure towering at the foot of the bed, casting a shadow over the two of us. The man grinned at me with a mouth full of barred teeth and coal black hair. He had broad shoulders and a hooked nose like Father. The eyes were also like Father's, complete with the cruel, yellow gleam. The man finally greeted me with a menacing tone that belied the words on his tongue, "Welcome home, little sister."

I shivered as recognition washed over me. "Fendril," I breathed.


	33. Chapter 22: Remaining Immovable

**Chapter 22: Remaining Immovable**

_**Alistair**_

The addition of Sister Letha to our party added unforeseen complications. We could not merely leave her behind. We were unsure of how she had managed to arrive in Cloughbark if she had escaped from the Templar stronghold in Swidden and she was in no shape to enlighten us. Leaving her with someone in a nearby village was also not an option, particularly if she was being searched for by the Templars. Returning to Herfirien before we could fetch Svenya was also not an option since she already had a head start and was walking into almost certain danger if she was caught. Our only option was to bring Sister Letha with us and hope for the best.

The first night we were worried that the Sister wouldn't make it. She had been shivering and quaking like one in a fever. Bruna managed to steep some tea that she brewed from wild herbs she discovered near camp and it counteracted some of the lyrium poisoning and helped to remove her from danger. I alternated with Bruna in taking turns sitting with the woman during the night. Ser Grey was willing to help, but the woman still seemed terrified of him. By the wee hours of the morning, the woman finally slept peacefully, the tea managed to cleanse the woman's system of most of the toxic remains of the lyrium.

Sister Letha and Bruna shared a horse since we did not trust her to ride one alone. Though, after the first evening of Bruna nursing and caring for her, the Chantry sister had calmed considerably but she still remained insensible; most of the time she looked around her like a lost toddler, eyes wide and taking in everything through a watery gaze. She often muttered to herself absently and hummed occasionally broken verses of old Chantry hymns that I could barely make out. She slowed our progress considerably, but I could not bring myself to be angry with her. If we had not found her the pitiful woman would have died of exposure in a matter of days.

After the second day of Sister Letha's presence Bruna informed us that we were over halfway to Cloughbark. My heart sank, realizing that we were far behind Svenya and Rian. I brooded by the fire that night as Bruna bustled about cooking and tending to our "holy charge." The Sister fell asleep early and Ser Grey also turned in early while I took first watch.

"You are troubled, your Majesty." Observed Bruna as she cleaned the pot she had been cooking with while the Sister issued soft snores.

"Are you not?" I inquired.

"Yes, but not for the same reasons that you are," she acted like she was scrubbing the pot, but I got the impression that she was carefully watching my responses. During our travels I had noticed that Svenya often did the same in the evening, disguising her scrutiny by feigning focus on a task being performed. It became obvious who she had learned the ability from.

Leaning back against a stump I looked at Bruna squarely before prodding, "Why are you troubled, Bruna?"

"Tonight she will walk in the Fade. I had believed that she would do it and all would be well…but now…" she hesitated, trying to guess my response before continuing.

"She had mentioned something of this practice during our journey to Herfirien. She shared that you had the ability to purposely walk in the Fade and that you had taught her this gift, though she made it a point to explain that she herself had never done it." I leaned forward, hoping my posture might encourage Bruna to unburden herself.

She nodded, "Mae learned how to walk the Fade from me. She seemed unusually drawn to the Fade in her dreams. There were a number of times I watched her in her dreams once I realized her gift, if only to watch over her and ensure that she would be safe initially."

"So demons are a concern, even if you sleep?" I asked.

Bruna tore her eyes from the pan and looked at me soberly, "There are more than demons in the Fade. Mages and the Chantry have spoken of them more often, but there are others. The Old Gods were denizens of the Fade before the Maker trapped them in the bodies of dragons and set them to hibernate in the low places. The Fade is the hunting ground of other things, things with long memories and little patience. Unlike demons have only one design, these other spirits follow their own devices that are more difficult to discern. They do not think as humans or demons."

Having been trained as a Templar, we were constantly warned about demons, but they never said anything about other spirits, except those that were vaguely alluded to in holy writ. Demons were a threat if they crossed into this world via the conduit of a mage and a possessed mage had to be eliminated at all costs. It was not possible to reverse a possession. The information that Bruna shared greatly troubled me. "What could these other spirits do?" I inquired.

"They can destroy or trap the mind of the dreamer. Why and for what purpose, I cannot say." She abjured from saying more.

"They would not take possession of the dreamer?" I continued to press, growing more concerned than I had been previously.

Shaking her head, Bruna concurred, "They could, but I do not believe that coming into our world interests them. What they would do to the dreamer, if the shock of having one's mind ripped apart did not instantly kill the dreamer's, the dreamer would awaken and be a Tranquil. Their Fade spirit would be dead, so they would no longer exist there. They would be half dead."

"You know of the Tranquil?" I probed, surprised that she knew what it was since there had been no Circle in the Cauldron, from what Svenya had explained.

"Being a Tranquil was a side effect of such attacks as I have explained. It was not common, but it was known to the Avvars as a risk of walking in the dream world. I suspect the practice of making a mage tranquil stemmed from a knowledge of this natural phenomena once other mages and the Chantry observed it and discovered a means to replicate it purposely rather than accidently." Bruna shivered slightly.

"You said that you entered Svenya's dreams when she started showing her abilities to walk in the fade. Is there a specific way to do this? Could you do this now? If you were to approach her in her dreams, perhaps you could convince her to turn back or wait for our help rather than rushing forward." I suggested this with the hopes of being able to reach Svenya and convince her to accept our aid so she and Rian would not be injured. If not, at least this could give us some indicator of where they were and if they were well.

After taking a breath and slowly blowing it out, Bruna confessed, "It is not that simple. Physical distance in the waking world hinders one's ability to communicate and meet in the Fade. If the desire is strong and the connection possessed with the dreamer were deep enough it might be possible to communicate slightly, but it is tricky and exhausting. If I had been able to do it I could have ministered to Mae's mother in Cloughbark from Herfirien. However, with our travel, we are closer…"

"Would it be possible for someone like me to do it?" I inquired this because I had been curious to return to the Fade myself since my most recent dreams. To be able to travel with purpose and not merely be ferried by the ebb and flow of the Fade seemed helpful. It might help me to come to terms with my own crisis.

"Why do you ask?" Bruna questioned, suspicious.

Seeing no reason to lie and feeling comfortable with her, I explained about my recent nocturnal visions. She was visibly intrigued by my descriptions and asked numerous questions, particularly about the women I had seen. When I would pause or become vague because of fuzzy memory, she would merely nod and wait patiently for me to continue. It was a relief to discharge some of my confusion with someone I felt would understand my reluctance and worry.

"You may not have the gift," Bruna assured me, "but your dreams confirm some things that I had been suspecting over the last year. It is not unusual for there to be places where the Veil between the Fade and the waking world is thin, but my concern has been that they seem to be spreading through the Cauldron recently. I am unaware of the cause, but it is having strange effects on the dreams of various people. It is obvious that it has had such an effect on you."

"So I would not be able to travel in the Fade as you do?" I queried, feeling discouraged.

"Alone, probably not," she narrowed her eyes and scratched her chin before continuing, "with a guide, however…"

With that Bruna pulled out her pack and began to rifle through it, withdrawing a couple of pouches constructed from thin, folded parchment. She gently poured the contents of the pouches into a small, battered metal kettle that she carried with her and filled it with water. Silently she considered the kettle as she waited for it to boil and I watched, unsure of what she intended to do.

When she discerned that the kettle was boiling she took out two cups and poured some of the brew into them, offering one to me, "Here!"

"What is it?" looking into the cup and cautiously sniffing the contents, I could vaguely conclude that it was some kind of tea, though the aroma was queer to my nostrils; not unpleasant but very pungent.

"You could go to Mae," she clarified, "I could serve as an anchor. Or were you only asking as a hypothetical question?"

Having a deeper sense of the dangers of the Fade, I should have refused or insisted that Bruna undertake this endeavor since she had experience. At the same time I was feeling very anxious for Svenya and frustrated that our progress in reaching her incessantly hindered. If I had a better concept of her safety, I would be less worried.

Casting a glance at Ser Grey, I opted to let him continue slumbering undisturbed. I already foresaw his response in my own mind. He would fiercely object to such a foolish idea and insist that I do nothing of the kind. Logically I could not argue with the concerns that I envisaged him raising, but I had a feeling…

"I trust you, Bruna." I consented and drained the cup in two swallows before she could respond.

The world around me became shiny and hazy at the edges and I felt myself listing to my left, falling from my crouching position by the fire onto my backside. Bruna rushed over to me and assisted me to my bedroll. On laying my head down, the world felt like it continued to undulate while I knew that I remained still. I blinked back some strange lights that flickered past my eyes that I thought were sparks being lifted up by the fire into the inkiness of the night before I could no longer open my eyes. I thought I heard Grey's voice as he was awakened by Bruna, but I could not decode their exchange. They sounded far away.

_I opened my eyes again and all the sound was gone, the fire was gone, the camp with Sister Letha and Ser Grey was gone, but Bruna sat cross-legged not far away from me. Her gray hair rested in loose tresses around her shoulders and she wore a dark gray shift. Her hands rested open on her thighs and she stared at me expectantly, waiting. Carefully I got up onto my feet and approached her, kneeling on one knee before her._

_"That tea is not meant to be swallowed that fast. I am surprised that you made it to your bunk at all. That brew could fell men twice your size." She chuckled with a grin._

_Slightly embarrassed, I apologized and she shrugged, "I awoke Ser Grey for his turn at watch over the camp while we slept. It did not seem necessary to distress him, so I explained that you had been so agonized with worry for Mae and Rian that I gave you a tonic which made you sleepy and you could not keep awake long enough to wake him yourself. It is not a lie, but it glosses over some of the truth."_

_"Thank you, Bruna," I rejoined, "I doubt Ser Grey would approve of these actions."_

_"I quite agree. The man has enough anxiety: some earned, some borrowed. It is better this way." She settled further more. Now you will have to go quickly."_

_"You are not coming?" the realization caused me to choke slightly._

_She shook her head solemnly, "I am your anchor. My connection with Mae was stronger when she was younger…now she is a grown woman, a different person. You know her better as she is now and will more easily find her. There is a tone to her that you can better recognize."_

_"A tone?"_

_She smiled, "If you remain still and quiet and picture Mae within, you will feel the tone. It is not sound or sight, it is just a deep feeling of the person's presence. It is a string, if you will, that ties you to that person: for good or ill."_

_Considering what she had told me, I carefully stilled myself and focused on Svenya, trying to draw her image in my mind. When I found the image, it was like it was accompanied by a sound. The sound resembled a tune that she had occasionally strummed on her lute. There had been words to the song and I had heard her intone them lightly with the music, though she had never done so loudly and I had not questioned about them. The words I did recollect were: "I have been the black swan so long…all I am is the shadow."_

_"Ah, that sounds…interesting…" Bruna muttered as I caught myself humming, then she continued, "Follow that tone. I must remain here to anchor you so that you can return to your sleeping self when your quest has concluded."_

_"How will I find you again?" I inquired._

_She raised one of her hands from her lap and placed it over her heart, reciting:_

_"Guide the wayward heart,_

_Help the seeker to see,_

_Finding the true path_

_Drawing him back to me."_

_When she drew the hand back from her chest nestled in the palm was a shiny device with a floating arrow and a long chord. She smiled, "This is a compass. If you follow the arrow it will help you to find me." She gestured for me to lean forward and, when I complied, she put the device's chord around my neck, "Now go, I am unsure of how long I can remain in one place unnoticed."_

_"Are you sure you will be safe?" I asked, feeling nervous at the thought of leaving her defenseless._

_"I am not as defenseless as you assume," she chided in response, as if she heard my thoughts. There was a twinkle in her eye when she spoke this._

_"Good to know."_

_With that I took my leave of Bruna and tried to walk in the direction that Svenya's "tone" seemed to be tugging me, drawing me forward. Only after a few moments I turned around to look back at the direction from which I had come and it had been completely obscured by a soft, shrouding bank of mist. The rest of the landscape was stark and empty, unlike the time I had travelled through the woods before. Landmarks were near impossible to discern in the mist and what little I saw was brown: an endless kaleidoscope of brown shapes and tones in profusion. I realize that most of Thedas is brown if left uncultivated, but here the brown had practically produced its own spectrum where all other color was banished and forgotten. It was both disorienting and disturbing._

_"Svenya, where are you?" I mumbled in consternation after wandering in one direction for what seemed like hours. If I attempted to stray from that direction, the "tone" seemed to jerk at me harder, attempting to keep me on task._

_"You seek the one with the mask," came a croak of a question to my right, causing me to spin slightly in order to face the source of the question. A woman stood there with dark hair and a mottled gray cloak, she had appeared out of nowhere at my elbow and I jumped, reaching for my sword which was not strapped to my back._

_"Do not be distressed," the woman soothed, "I mean no harm."_

_I remained wary, "Forgive me if I remain on my guard."_

_"That is wise," she conceded, "things can be more dangerous than initially perceived."_

_My brow furrowed as something appealed to my memory and I felt a twinge in my chest, "I know you…somehow…"_

_"You cannot truly know me," she insisted, her voice rasping slightly with the words, "but you mayhap recall me. We have conversed before."_

_"You were one of the women from the wood by the river. You guarded…part of me?"_

_She nodded, "Aye."_

_"You know whom I seek?"_

_Again she nodded, "Aye."_

_"Is she close by?" I queried._

_"She is here seeking," she answered, "She has been seeking here many times. Now she has discerned a purpose for her search, but it is not her true purpose."_

_"What is her true purpose?" I questioned, intrigued._

_"It is not meant for me to speak," she refused, "but it is a purpose she must discover."_

_I inclined my head slightly out of respect and acknowledged, "Thank you for your assistance. Be well."_

_"There is another that seeks her here." The woman added before I could escape._

"Why can this never be simple?"_ I inwardly groaned, "Who else seeks her?"_

_"It is a child of holy poison and corrupted light. Its essence is equal parts Fade and the waking world. It heard her tone from a distance and was drawn to it. Now it wishes to mimic and consume, worship and profane what has captivated it. It is equal parts love and hate, tenderness and violence."_

"Damn, she was speaking plainly before, now we have been reduced to riddles,"_ bemoaning the sudden change of the woman's speech, I tried to unravel her meaning and ended up in deeper confusion. "How can something be both of the Fade and the waking world?"_

_"The Veil has become thin. It crossed the border unintentionally and collided with what already dwelt here. The two became one and inseparable. The parts of what came before exist no longer." Her croaking voice became strained with what I assumed to be sadness. "The greed of men has led to a tainting of the innocent, corrupting what once was pure. It spreads in your world and now poisons this one as well."_

_"The greed of men?" I was roiling in confusion, "Human beings from my world have caused this."_

_She nodded, "Now the corruption stalks the one with the mask. She is like a light where the dim wish to dwell. She is a riddle to which there is no single answer."_

"At least I can concur with that statement,"_ I thought wryly, bowing my head again, "Is there some way I can help Svenya and protect her from the thing that is stalking her?"_

_"You cannot defend or be a shield here. You must remind her of who she is and remain immovable. She must take a stand and remember." She explained, backing away into the mist before disappearing._

"Immovable?"_ Another twinge in my heart and I rushed towards the source of the tone, towards Svenya. Something was after her and I could not allow her to face it alone. I no longer noted my surroundings, my focus was completely consumed by that faint tug, that melody, that essence of Svenya that drove me forward._

_Suddenly, it felt as though I had hit a wall: physically I could move no further. My legs were frozen in place, stuck fast to the ground. I struggled vainly to move using the rest of my body, my heart strained in my chest as if it wanted to move forward and would fly from me if it could only break free. I placed a hand over my heart and tried to steady myself when I heard it:_

_"Trudge, woman, trudge. Your knights are not here to carry you. You must carry yourself."_

_The voice was Svenya's, though I could not see her, the mist was too thick. My heart continued to strain and I closed my eyes, willing myself to get to her. I was about to call her name and ask her to help me when a strange voice came out of the darkness as well._

_"But they are here!" It was like no voice I had ever heard before. Closing my eyes I tried to do what I had done with Svenya's tone and really focused on the sound of the voice and it was as if everything snapped before my mind's eye and I could see what was being concealed by the mist. The vision that wavered in my head was monstrous. It was like a quilted doll given life, all scraps that it had collected. This sense wavered after a moment and seemed to superimpose a likeness similar to Svenya, but without a mask. It was a handsome, young woman, but the eyes were wrong and there were gaps, points where the seams did not completely come together and a dull blue light seeped through. I could almost sense her circling Svenya, watching her, examining her before stopping at a point behind her._

_I also noticed a silvery string that reminded me of the silk created by giant spiders or one of the strings on Svenya's lute, except it too had a particular glow emanating from it. "What if I were to take them?" the voice suddenly came again, "Give them to me. What are they to you? You barely know them. Give me the burden you carry. It is such a heavy thing."_

_"No," this was Svenya's voice, ringing clear and certain._

_The creature was visibly amused by this, "It would be easy if you just surrendered. Even if you do not give them to me, I will have them. I can take what I want."_

_"Take what? What are you threatening to take from her?" I muttered to myself anxiously._

_"You can't have them. I won't let you take them." This was Svenya's answer, though her voice caught slightly at the end. She was trying to be brave, but inwardly she was frightened and my heart ached because she was unaware of me and I could do nothing to intervene._

_"Silly girl, I already have a hold on them. One quick tug and they will be gone. If I pull there…." With that the patchwork entity grabbed the string attached to Svenya and gave a hard, vicious pull. I felt intense pain in my heart that stole my breath from my lungs and it occurred to me what the string actually was: it was the tone. It was my connection to Svenya and this monster was yanking it, tearing something within me._

_Trying to focus beyond the pain, I could just make out Svenya absently gathering her end of the strand in her arms, unaware of how she was cradling it and keeping a strong hold. When she did this, the pain receded slightly and visions began to explode before my eyes of various times I had been with Svenya. Times when we laughed together, the time when we picked berries together in the woods, kneeling next to each other, the times when I walked up quietly behind her and she instinctively knew that it was me by the sound of my steps, the times when we sparred and I gently adjusted her arm to fix her stance. They were all there, swelling in my chest, clasping tight like iron ribs holding in my heart, maintaining our connection. Her voice commanded defiantly, "Let go!"_

_This caused the creature pause before it wheedled, ""Fine, what about the Red Knight? What about Ser Lion? I can settle for one of them."_

_"No," she spat the word like an arrow and the creature seemed less sure than before, but it was not about to give up and Svenya, sensing this, adjusted her stance to dig in her heels for the creature to make another pull._

_"Little fool, you cannot stop me," the creature mocked as it made ready to yank at the string again._

_"Nothing can be taken that you do not surrender," I shouted at Svenya, trying to encourage her. For a moment she seemed to look right at me, as if she could see me. My jaw felt tight and I gazed into her eyes, willing her to hold onto that string._

_Svenya's eyes shone as she almost turned toward the monster and bragged, "You cannot have what they have given me. You cannot take what I do not hand you. They are anchored here. Go ahead and pull all you want. They will not budge and I will not be manipulated by you."_

_In response the creature gave a loud hiss and suddenly pulled at the silver string again, but this time I felt no give. There was no pain, no pressure, no tugging sensation within. I grinned to myself and purposely sat on the ground, as if trying to drive home the fact that I would not be removed. I was immovable. This was my place._

_With that the creature threw down the string altogether and lunged at Svenya, knocking her to the ground. It tore at her face and her eyes and I struggled to get to my feet again and pulled at my legs to get them to move, shouting at that thing. Threatening, clawing at the ground, anything to get closer._

_"This is not your fight, mortal." A booming voice observed, and I paused long enough to notice a very large grey wolf sitting on its haunches next to me, its muzzle towering well over my head. Green eyes bored into me, examining me closely._

_My throat became tight, thinking this thing would attack Svenya I squared my shoulders and stared back at it, mustering all the courage an unarmed man has at his disposal and bellowed, "You will not harm her!"_

_"If I intended her harm, small man," the wolf intoned, amused, "what could you hope to do to stop me?"_

_Something thrummed inside my chest, my heart seemed to shudder suddenly and instantaneously armor transfigured around me and there was a sword in my grip. I was too consumed with my own sense of duty to Svenya and concern for her safety to stop and be impressed by what had transpired. The wolf, however, seemed to prick its ears forward and gave a low hum of approval. "Two wonders in so short a time. I thought to never see any of this like again. There is something to be said for you mortals, your hearts are stronger than your fragile bodies. Be at ease, Fade Knight, I mean no harm to your lady or to you."_

_I refused to lower my guard. Who in their right mind would? I continued to point my sword where I considered his heart to be._

_"Yes, you have certainly impressed me, and I am not one easily impressed." The wolf concluded, nodding its sleek gray head to itself, "I serve no mortal, but in exchange for such a wonder I would willingly offer a boon. I shall defend your lady since you are not permitted by what binds you at this time. You must return now from whence you came and she must continue forward. Though you are parted here, you will be reunited again in the waking world soon. Now go, you shall not see me again."_

_With that the wolf bounded forward and past me, pouncing upon the creature that had been threatening Svenya and pinning it to the ground with its paws. Its jaws grinned and it began to speak something that I could not make out. The world was thinning around me and I felt the urgency of what the wolf had said within me. I had to return to Bruna and awaken. Glancing at the compass, I hurried in the direction it indicated, but the opening distance between Svenya and I caused something in my heart to burn and I had to reassure myself that we would meet again. For now she was safe._

_In moments I found Bruna sitting much as I had left her, though I was startled that it took so little time to retrace my steps. She said not a word, but smiled at me and patted the ground next to her, indicating that I should lie down. As I stretched out upon the ground, the mist began to swirl and I felt like I was rising upwards on a whirlwind, faster and faster until I bolted upright, gasping for air._

Ser Grey stared at me from his side of the campfire while both Bruna and Sister Letha remained inert on their bedrolls, appearing to sleep comfortably. The fire crackled and I vaguely made out a strange croaking bird call in the distance.

"Did the tonic cause you nightmares?" asked Ser Grey, beginning to recline on his blankets again, assuming that I would take over the watch for the next couple of hours until dawn.

"No," I answered, "but I think there are some other things in this world that are producing them."


	34. Interlude 11: The Dread Wolf

_**Interlude 11: The Dread Wolf**_

_**Ancient Variant Dalish Legend of Fen'Harel**_

_Not many remember the birth of Fen'Harel. He was one of the first gifts to be created by the land for Elgar'nan, child of the soil and the sun. It was believed that the dread wolf was possibly a protector to the young god in his first steps and guided him through the woods of his mother. This was long before the sun grew jealous and sought to destroy all the things the young god regarded with affection. The sun looked upon all that was green and good and smote it with angry eyes into ash, making the world gray with soot and cinder._

_Fen'Harel saw his home begin to burn and watched his brethren blaze, consumed by the jealous rage of the Sky Eye. The air filled with smoke and the stench led him to confusion, but Fen'Harel was strong of mind as well as nimble of foot. Unable to find his companion, Elgar'nan, he discovered a place between, a Setheneran*, where the divider between the land of his birth and the land of dreams began. He curled into this place and waited, hearing the screams of the world as it burned and felt helpless and alone. When all had passed away, he lay there even longer, almost devoid of the will to live since the land he had known had died. There he dreamed, and his dreams sang, creating a dark song of loneliness and loss that did not go unnoticed._

_While in hiding, he was found by some of the Forgotten Ones that resided in the land of dreams and they sensed Fen'Harel's dark gift: a way to manipulate the essence of dreams. They initially took him prisoner and held him under their sway for a period of time within the dream realm in the hopes of turning him into their lackey. Thinking that there was nothing left of the world he had known, he allowed them to hold him and did not resist. The time was interminable in that dreaming place until he heard a whisper on the wind that his home still existed. Using his cunning, he found a way to outsmart the Forgotten Ones and escaped back into the waking world._

_When he returned, he found his former home, but it was dark. Nothing would grow and the land was barren without the light. The land lamented to him that Elgar'nan had destroyed the sun in a rage and had imprisoned him in an abyss within the heart of the land. Though Fen'Harel had no love for the sun because of the destruction the Angry Eye had unleashed, the wolf knew that the land would remain barren without him and was moved with pity for the ravaged emptiness._

_Fen'Harel went to Elgar'nan and begged for him to relent and restore the sun, but Elgar'nan had hardened his heart and was blinded by his vengeance. After much time arguing, Fen'Harel was tempted to destroy the prideful god since he was choosing his own arrogance over the land and the wolf was disillusioned with his former master. He quietly turned from him and chose to watch from a distance._

_Eventually Mythal came and soothed the rage of the god and Elgar'nan eventually restored the sun, but Fen'Harel never forgot the fickleness of the gods, ruled by their emotions instead of their reason, allowing their power to be corrupted by their darker whims. He saw that both the Forgotten Ones and the Creators had the capacity for destruction with their extensive power. He was sickened that the people that eventually grew from the renewed land blindly worshipped the Creators and blindly feared the Forgotten Ones. To him they were all alike._

_For many years he wandered between the two worlds, his mind roiling with thoughts of all he had come to know and dread while both families of gods took for granted his good will. He continued to watch, until finally the Forgotten Ones and the Creators eventually went to war. Fearing that the gods would destroy both the earth and the dream realm in a misguided sense of rivalry, he chose to intervene and fooled them. Through a ruse, he convinced the Creators to go to the heavens in order to find a weapon he reported had been hidden there by the Forgotten Ones. The Forgotten Ones he sent to the abyss to find a weapon that he claimed the Creators had hidden that was capable of destroying them. It is forgotten how the Dread Wolf achieved it, but he gathered enough power and used it to seal both groups of gods away so that they could no longer walk either the land of men or the land of dreams._

_Now the Dread Wolf continues to wander between the two worlds, watching all that passes between. Some of the people say he trapped the gods out of spite, some people say he did it out of anger, but the Dread Wolf is a cunning being. He has his reasons and they may not be what mortals presume._

* * *

_* **Setheneran** (SEH-thehn-ERR-ahn): a Dalish word for land of waking dreams or a place where the Veil is thin. Literally: "Tenuous waking dream place"_

_I found the Dalish word and definition the Dragon Age wiki and I had to find a way to incorporate it._


	35. Chapter 23: Knight of Denerim

**Chapter 23: Knight of Denerim**

**_Ser Hadrian Forthwind_**

Svenya had been in slumber for an hour when we began to hear strange stirrings in the hall. The sound of heavy footsteps prowling the halls of the manor, Murchad seemed uneasy each time they passed the door and cast glances to his inert sister, glances willing her to wake so that we could be gone from this place. It was more than obvious that he did not intend to stay once this ritual was done and I doubt we would leave Svenya's mother at the mercy of this gloomy prison. The sooner Svenya found what she sought in the land beyond, the sooner we would leave.

Mainly I gazed down into her masked face, looking at her eye lids as they softly fluttered in her sleep. Her mouth would occasionally turn up or grimace with her soft lips. My fingers gently brushed a stray strand of her chestnut hair from her forehead when it wrinkled slightly with worry over whatever passed before her in the Fade. At one point she shifted and I fancied she whispered my name, though an idle fancy it was, I know.

Taking her free hand in my own, I traced the knuckles, memorizing the freckled constellations in the valleys between her fingers. The tips of her fingers were calloused from picking tunes on her lute, but they were joined by newer callouses and blisters that she had gained from studying the longsword with our king, though she knew not his standing. These were such cunning, clever, strong hands.

At court I had observed how reluctantly ladies soiled their hands with work. She was the more lady for her strength, for her willingness to touch and she was learning to be touched. I had noticed this as well. At the beginning of our journey she had held herself apart from us, but not in fear – or at least not in fear of us. It was not a lady's reluctance to soil her hands, but a reluctance of becoming too attached. As time passed, she began to be swayed towards us, she sat closer to us, she allowed Alistair to take her hand to steady her over the rougher rocks. She allowed Ser Grey to adjust her arm when she practiced her stance. She allowed herself to run her hands over my wounds or put salve on my bruises.

In her ministrations to me she was particularly gentle. Once, when I had barely known her, she had attracted my curiosity and I admired her candor. As time passed I came to rely on her ability to assist in tasks from the mundane to her unwavering perseverance in the face of natural obstacles. She willingly placed herself in danger to help protect me when it should have been me protecting her. In the midst of it all, somewhere I had become captivated by her in a way that surpassed attraction.

My mother had said that it was imperative for a knight to have a lady, one who inspired him to be honorable and true to his tenets. Somewhere during this journey, Svenya became my lady, the one who I would slay dragons to defend.

Ser Grey would choke on his outrage to hear it and deem me a fool full of romantic fancies…provided he did not gut me for desertion and dereliction of duty. My first quest as Svenya's knight had the potential to be to defend us both from the wrath of my commander. I did not wish to think what my king would say either, though I suspect he might be more forgiving.

As I sat there, holding her hand, she shifted again and vainly tried to moisten her parched lips with a careless swipe of her tongue. I released her hand long enough to reach for a ewer of water on a table beside the bed and fill a goblet. Carefully I lifted her head, inclining it so I could gently place the cup to her lips and help her to sip the water so she did not choke. Lowering her head back to the pillow, she seemed more calm and peaceful. I hoped this was a good sign that all passed well in the place beyond. I was not sure how I would assist her if she truly became distressed, though I would find a way to storm the Fade if necessary, that was a surety that could be erased by death alone.

Murchad came to the side of the bed, "The frequency of the guards passing this door is too great. All is not well, but I dare not stir beyond the door to investigate. Do you think she will tarry in the Fade much longer?"

"I do not know, Murchad," I confessed, "she offered me no way to gage and I dare not try to rouse her for fear I might shatter something vital in doing so or cause her injury."

He sighed, "I will return to the doorway."

As he turned to go, the door to the hall was kicked in from the other side and five men rushed in. Murchad jumped back before making a move to place himself between the bed where his mother and sister lay and these men, but he was unarmed. I unsheathed my sword and rushed to his side in the hope that I could deflect an attack, but how could I defend three unarmed people from five opponents. I cleared my mind, as Ser Grey had taught me, and looked about me, bracing my feet for a fight.

The men, after entering the room, made no move to attack, but instead appeared to be waiting. My confusion at this was soon answered as a larger man sauntered in from the hall, with a smirk and a hand on the sword hilt at his belt. Murchad let out a shaky breath before questioning, "Fendril, what is the meaning of this?"

"I could ask you the same, little brother. With father gone to Swidden the security of the manor falls too my capable hands. A guard reported this night that you had issues relieving yourself at your chamber pot. Your clumsiness does not surprise me, but the fact that you rarely stir in the night was enough to make me concerned for both you and Mother's well fare. There have been attacks on the Templars and unrest in the villages. Some luckless individual might be tempted to try their fortune robbing this house or might try to assassinate this family in some misguided act of vengeance. Now, tell me brother, what would you do if you were me?" the man laid out the words like honey laced with venom. He was far from harmless, as I could interpret from Murchad's continued tension in his shoulder as he stood beside me.

"Brother, it is safe to assume that I would probably act with far more tact and far less force." Murchad answered levelly.

"What need have I for tact," he chortled, "except when we have guests. Have you taken to clandestine meetings with men in our mother's room?"

"If I did?" Murchad's voice was flat, as one who has tired of pretense and games but must play along for fear of his opponent.

The man sneered, "It would not surprise me since no woman would probably desire a pasty weakling such as you. Father should have sent you to the Templars long ago. They have no need for physical love in the face of their holy passions."

"I question how holy their passions truly are," Murchad muttered under his breath, but the other man took no notice of it. He resembled a wolf pacing in a cage, sizing up its prey before it pounced. The entire time he spoke to Murchad he did not remove his eyes from me, watching for an opening that I would never give him.

His patience coming to an end, the man jerked his head in my direction, though he addressed Murchad, "Who is this farm whelp? He looks too red to be of the Avvars and too ready with a blade to be some random peasant. What is he doing in _my _house?"

"He is my friend," Murchad stated simply.

With that the man seemed to look past us and to the bed for the first time, before observing, "He is not your friend alone, it would appear." At that moment he moved as if to walk around us to go to the foot of the bed, but I side stepped and barred his path, holding the sword level with his chest.

"Well, the whelp seems to think he has teeth," the man snickered mirthlessly, before making a gesture with a flick of his wrist and two of the armed men advanced on Murchad before he enumerated, "I have teeth too, boy, but I don't need to cut my own on you. If you persist in blocking me I will have these men cut my worthless brother to ribbons. Do not assume that I will stay my hand because he is my brother. He is a third son and has little standing in this house."

Not wishing to cause the guards to attack Murchad, I stepped back and allowed the man to pass, but remained fully focused on him, prepared to rush him if he should attempt to harm Svenya.

"A lady in a mask…" the man mused with an ugly look upon his face, "sleeping soundly beside my _dear_ Mother; such an odd place to choose to take her ease. Even my own father abandoned this bed long ago, finding greener pastures elsewhere. Though it occurs to me, we had reports recently from a Templar who was attacked in the woods during a winnowing when he accosted a masked woman assisting rumored apostates from escaping. This is quite a coincidence. I cannot help that my curiosity has been piqued by such a mystery as this. When a man sees a mask, he cannot help but wonder what lies beneath."

After saying this he reached a hand to snatch the mask back from Svenya's face. Something in me ignited and I flew at him, careful not to stab him, but striking him with my shoulder, knocking him back and away from her, placing myself in his way once again. The man looked startled but recovered instantly, drawing his own sword, "I grow impatient with you whelp! As my little brother will agree, patience is not something I possess in abundance and I will not suffer the insolence of a cardinal headed Jack in my own house. Seize him."

With that, the remaining guards fell on me, not with swords but with heavy fists in gauntlets. I dared not swing wildly to fend them off in fear that I might accidently strike Svenya or her mother in the confusion. I struggled against the arms, but they subdued me with little effort and, to emphasize his control, Fendril, stepped forward and backhanded me, causing me to taste blood on my lips. Satisfied he approached the bed again and I growled for the first time, "Harm her and I will _end_ you."

"How do you propose to do that, whelp?" Fendril taunted over his shoulder before casually adding, "I will not harm her…yet."

I jerked against the guards again and almost regained my freedom, but they were strong and had me before I could move forward, but the action caused the wolfish man to pause and threaten, "If he gets loose again, it will mean your heads will decorate the gate come morning." With that he tore the mask from Svenya's face and gazed down at her with open contempt, "Just as I assumed, the prodigal has returned. I suppose it was too much to hope for that she should have been wiped out by the darkspawn along with half of southern Ferelden. That girl always did have an uncanny luck."

As if sensing the nearness of such foulness, Svenya whimpered in her sleep, shifting again. Her face looked disturbed, distraught and I wanted to go to her side and hold her hand again until the distress passed, but I was trapped in the waking world. Without the mask, I saw her pale face and I saw the scars that marked it on the right side in jagged lines burned beneath her eye, across the cheek and making spidery tendrils that reached in delicate strands to her jaw. Even her scars were lovely to me for they marked her as having withstood something so hideous that I only now understood on witnessing her brother, Fendril, first hand. Men like him are not thrust from the womb as such, men like him are created, poisoned by cruelty and malice. How she herself had withstood such poison I could not begin to fathom.

He must have noticed me looking at her longingly, for Fendril turned to me, "So, what think you of my family's gargoyle? The mask hides it well, but torn away you see her as she truly is. I presume that this is the first you have seen of my father's art. I was privileged enough to witness it firsthand. She was such a wild thing, like a horse that needed to be broken. She maintained her dense silences, though her eyes always said that she thought she was better, that she thought we were beneath her, but she could not keep silent when he put the hot iron to her face. Stupid wench!"

"She is the loveliest lady that ever lived as surely as you are the most hideous coward that ever drew breath," I snarled, my heart breaking at the thought of what she suffered at her father's hands in the presence of this wanton wretch.

With that, the ugliness surged forth from within and his face took on an aspect that bordered on demonic. He took two strides forward and grabbed a handful of my hair, spewing words directly into my face on foul breath, "Coward, am I? If you were not so beneath wiping my boots on I would slit your throat myself. I will not dirty my hands with so lowly a creature."

"I am Ser Hadrian Forthwind, knight of Denerim, defender of King Alistair the Just," I intoned, feeling something surge forth within me like a rising tide, "I am bound by my oath to defend the Lady Maerwynn. If you can stand against the righteous, _coward_, then I challenge you to meet me in equal combat until one opponent yields or dies. If I am victorious, you are bound to release us. If you win, then my life is in your hands."

"You mean your life is forfeit," he ground out, "for I will not suffer you to live. However, I will accept your challenge for such insolence will not go unpunished, even if it means I must acquiesce to such terms. We will fight at dusk, giving you the day to rest in preparation."

As if sensing what had happened, Svenya began to stir, sighing as she returned to this side of the Veil. I gasped her name, coming back to myself as I felt relief on seeing her wake. Her mother also began to stir and her pallor seemed to lessen.

Fendril went to stand at the foot of the bed, his smirk returning, as he greeted her in forbidding tones, "Welcome home, little sister."

"Fendril," she breathed, her voice seemed to fray slightly with panic as her eyes grew wide.

He smiled, but it did not meet his eyes, "Too bad Father is not here to greet you, he will be disappointed, though it would appear you have somehow managed to coax Mother back from the edge of the beyond so we are not bereft of both our parents."

She sat up, not taking her eyes from him, wary before saying, "I am sorry, Fendril, but I had not planned on an extended visit. It will be a shame to miss Father, but I have pressing matters elsewhere."

"Oh, have you more Templars to thwart?" he scoffed, "We heard of your activities, and I can only assume this clumsy lout of a knight was the one assisting you."

She shook her head, looking more worried, "He had nothing to do with that! He is a knight of Redcliffe and you would risk open war with a southern arling if he comes to harm."

"Redcliffe, is it?" he said, casting a curious glance at me, "I thought it was Denerim? Well, no matter. Who would know if I dispatch one knight? Who would bother sending an army through the mountains for that?"

"Do not presume to know all, Fendril," she warned.

He condescended, "Well, regardless of your wishes, this _knight_ has challenged me to armed combat in the hopes of freeing you. As hopeless as that is, the thought amused me enough that I have decided to accept the challenge."

The blood drained from her face and Svenya turned stricken eyes upon me before looking to him again, pleading, "Leave him be, Fendril, I bed you!"

"Beg?" he seemed genuinely amused by this, "Now time has surely changed you for you to lower yourself so. There was once a time I would never have hoped to hear you beg. He must be truly dear to you. Is he your lover, then? One would deign to bed so hideous a creature."

"By Arlessa Carys' curse, Fendril," Svenya's mother interrupted, "do not go forward with this. Those words still live in my heart and mind just as she spoke them on that day to your Father when you were just a boy. Do not tempt Fate! Let us go. You and your Father have enough."

"Quiet, _old woman_," he roared at his own mother, "I am not some superstitious fool. That woman died at my Father's hand and her words died with her. I will meet this man tomorrow and when Father returns he can decide what he will do with the rest of you lot! Guards, make sure this knight has appropriate accommodations in the dungeon, along with my long lost sibling. My mother will remain locked in this room along with my milksop brother. If they are in the same place I do not have to worry arranging for more supervision for them than necessary." With that he exited the room, while the two guards that had been securing Murchad roughly hauled Svenya from the bed and the two of us were roughly ushered from the room into the darkness of nightshadowed halls in the wee hours before dawn.


	36. Chapter 24: Keen

**Chapter 24: Keen**

_**Svenya / Maerwynn**_

"Rian, you should not have challenged him," I sighed.

We sat on the floor of a cell with our backs to the wall, side by side. Through the bars, in the dim torchlight, I could make out a bellows around a pit glowing with red coals. That familiar sight caused me more disquiet than anything else in that miserable place. My face was naked save for the scars and they seemed to tingle every time the coals caught my eye. Trying to calm myself, I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, but even then I could smell the smoke with an underlying scent of burnt flesh. I was trying to keep my voice level and speak to Rian in order to distract myself from the memories and emotions that were vying for my attention with painful alacrity.

"If I can beat him in armed combat he will be obliged to release us," Rian stated with a simple certainty that broke my heart, "we can leave with your mother and Murchad. I will escort you back to Herfirien and from there we will return to Denerim."

After a long, measured breath I reasoned, "He is twice as large as you and you are accustomed to fighting with armor. Though you are decent with a blade he has had more experience."

"Ser Grey trained me well," was all he replied, no emotion coloring his voice. He seemed to feel that statement alone was reason enough for confidence.

I shook my head, my façade of calm was fraying at the edges and my frustration began to fill the cracks, "Even if you should win, Rian, he will not honor the terms of the duel. He has not learned to be honorable, he learned to be ruthless. _Please_, let me argue him out of this!"

"Svenya," Rian answered gently, as if he were speaking to a small child, "do you honestly believe he will let me back out now? As narrow as the chance is, if I do not try then we will have no chance at all."

My heart twinged in my chest. I had convinced myself that Rian had been naïve and merely assumed he could overcome my brother's brutality with a display of chivalry. In reality, I had been the one delusional, believing I could convince my oldest brother to release us and leave us alive. Everything depended on Rian now and he seemed completely at peace with this.

"Are you prepared to kill him?" I opened my eyes, leveling my head to look to my side and directly into his eyes. He bowed his head slightly, looking down into his hands.

"Rian?"

"I hope it will not come to that."

"_No!"_ I growled, grabbing his shoulder to make him look at me, "You must be ready to kill him. He is merciless and will not hesitate to strike you down. Rian, promise me that if the opening presents itself you will kill him. There is no safety in a hope that does not exist."

He did not become angry or sound disgusted when he spoke, he maintained the level of calm that all his other words had contained since we had been imprisoned, "You are telling me to kill your brother."

"The world will be poorer for the loss of you than for the loss of him," I ground out, feeling the frustration wring tears from my eyes that flowed freely down my face, "I may share blood with him, but you are dearer to me. If he kills you…_Oh Maker…_" I was slowly shattering before his eyes and it was devastating me. It meant I had to verbally butcher his innocence but, _damn it_, I wanted him alive more than I wanted him pure. My lineage had managed to taint every good and beautiful thing that the Maker had offered me, but I was choosing to destroy something inherent in Rian's spirit that made him better than most of the men in my family, excluding my Uncle Trian. I had often wondered if my Uncle Trian had been much the same way, with a trusting loving spirit, believing in the goodness of humanity. Now I was asking Rian to give it up and compromise it in order that he might survive.

"Do you realize what you are asking?"

I sighed as one of the memories I had been holding at bay engulfed my senses and it was as if I saw it all again, "When I was no more than ten winters, Fendril was around fourteen. He was already imitating father's habits and would take out his wrath on anything smaller than him, me included. Father had acquired a mabari pup and brought him home, stating that a man planning to govern an arling should learn how to govern an animal. He gave the pup to my oldest brother, and Fendril planned to make him a fierce war dog, one capable of ripping out men's throats on command. To do this, he put the dog through grueling training, often pitting it against animals and creatures larger than the pup. The dog managed to survive, but was constantly being beaten, my brother reasoning that it would make it stronger. If the mabari did not perform to expectation Fendril withheld food, saying that if it became hungry enough then it would be far more vicious. The dog did not progress as quickly as he wished and he often stated that it was a stupid animal and did not have the famed intelligence that mabari were supposed to possess."

"That poor creature," Rian whispered to himself.

"I felt much the same way," I confided, "and I would often sneak it food. Over time I developed a connection with the animal and affectionately called it _Keen_, since I thought he was very bright, as well as sharp of tooth. I taught him small tricks and he always appeared happy to see me."

"One day, Fendril brought the dog hunting and it managed to corner a bear, helping the hunters to make the kill. Fendril was strutting and bragging, but when they returned, Keen came running and leapt into my arms, licking my face and gamboling about my feet like a puppy and ignored Fendril's commands when he called Keen to heel. The hunters laughed at Fendril since he could not truly control his dog, since in reality the dog had imprinted on me and not him since I had been kind to it."

"Fendril was humiliated and began to beat poor Keen, the beast yowling in pain and cowering from the blows. I threw myself at my brother, clinging to his arm to force him to stay his hand for fear he would seriously injure my friend. My brother then turned his wrath on me, striking me across the face with the back of his hand. At that moment, Keen turned and attacked Fendril with bared teeth, sinking them into his arm and side, causing him to fall back. One of the hunters managed to subdue Keen before he could do more damage and help Fendril to his feet. My brother was not satisfied however," I swallowed down the lump that had been steadily growing in my throat as I recalled the rest, "and he pulled a club made of oak and beat Keen to death for daring to turn on him while another of the hunters held me back so I could not interfere. When my friend lay dead and still on the ground my brother turned to me and with a pointed finger stated that fate awaited any creature stupid enough to desire my regard."

"Svenya, I…" Rian started to speak but I placed a hand to his lips.

"He will not let you live if you beat him and I could not bear to lose you to his wrath, Rian. Do not underestimate him. If he had been raised in a different house with different parents, he might have been a better man, but he still chose this path. He has hardened himself and purged any pity he could have possessed for others."

I had not expected it, but Rian suddenly leaned into me with a kiss. The lips were tender, but insistent, and his hand gently wiped a tear from my cheek. The kiss was only momentary and Rian leaned back to look warmly into my eyes, his hand gliding back to rest at the nape of my neck. The eyes gazing into mine seemed suddenly so wise, "Svenya…it will be well, whatever happens, I promise."

"Do not swear and eat it," I whispered brokenly.

He gave a half smile and released me before settling on taking my hand and lacing his fingers through mine, "I love you…"

"You hardly know me, Rian." I argued, but it was his turn to shush me.

"I have witnessed both your courage and your compassion. You have survived things that would have destroyed most people or would have turned them into monsters like your brother. Withstanding all of that has made you who you are now."

I opened my mouth to argue again, but he stopped me firmly, "Let me finish. I am not going to presume on your affections or fool myself into believing that you feel the same so soon, but when this is over and we have time, I would like the honor of courting you properly, as a lady of your quality deserves. Please think on this."

My emotions were reeling. I had not anticipated the depth of Rian's emotions or the confusion they would cause me. It had not even entered my consideration and there was a pang when I realized that I could not reconcile what I felt for him. At one point he had reminded me of my late husband and it inspired me to save him and the other knights he travelled with, but he was not my husband and what I felt for him was different than what I had felt for Collin, though no less deep. All of it just served to tear at me and further fray my taxed emotions.

As if reading my mind, Rian comforted me, "I am sorry that you are forced to endure all of this."

"What other choice do I have? I must endure or surrender. Endurance is far more palatable meal than surrender."

At that point a guard entered with a loud bang of a door and addressed us both, "Arlson Fendril Crewe has sent me to inform you that, as the challenged party, he has the option of choosing the means of battle. He invokes the trial of shields."

"The trial of shields?" Rian inquired, turning to me.

"It is an old tradition of the Avvar people," I explained, "It was originally used when a man wished to challenge an established chieftain. The combatants forego armor and are each allowed three wooden bucklers. They fight using short swords and whenever a buckler is splintered they must discard it and take up another buckler. When the bucklers are exhausted, then the combatant must continue on without it. The first man disarmed of his weapon loses."

"Then it is not to the death?"

I shrugged, "In most cases, death is a foregone conclusion. A disarmed opponent is usually dead. A chieftain would never suffer a potential usurper to live."

"Arlson Crewe sent me to inform you of this as a courtesy. He will abide by the terms of the challenge. If he loses, you and the Lady Maerwynn will be released. It has been sworn and witnessed." The guard informed us of this with stiff aspect, "The contest will convene shortly before sundown. In the meantime you are encouraged to rest."

"Thank my brother for his hospitality," I answered sardonically, nodding to the straw thrown into the corner of the cell for our rest and which was probably infested with fleas.

"You are afforded more lavish accommodations than many of his previous guests." The guard answered as he left the dungeon with a loud crash of the iron and oak door. His footsteps echoed wetly against the damp stones.

After that, the hours passed slowly, much of it spent in silent contemplation. Rian seemed at peace and refused to speak further on it. It pleased him to sit beside me and hold my hand. Seeing no purpose in arguing or trespass on something I could not change, I would occasionally hum or sing softly. At one point I dozed off with my head resting on his shoulder.

The guards came to fetch us and escort us to my brother's personal training ground. It was a field adjoining the estate grounds that had been cleared and was covered over by soft dirt to form a ring. Fendril waited for us with an arrogant smirk on his face, making a sweeping gesture to the three bucklers that would be Rian's defense, lying on the ground. They were made from green ash wood and appeared rickety, easy to splinter with a heavy blow. Fendril's shields, on the other hand, were made from cured wood, able to withstand more punishment before splintering. He was stacking the deck in his favor even before the contest began.

What is more, my brother was wielding a long sword of steel, while Rian was given a short sword of iron that was rusting at the hilt, "I see that you cannot bear to partake of a fair fight, Fendril."

"Little sister, you wound me," he chuckled darkly, "it states within the tenets of chivalry that the challenged party is permitted to choose the weapons."

"Yes, but they are supposed to be equal weapons. To do less is dishonorable."

He laughed outright, "If your knight is as valiant and righteous as he professes, then he is already at an advantage. I am merely providing a handicap that evens the odds. Surely you would not wish your knight to have an unfair advantage."

Rian placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, "Be at peace, Svenya. I will meet your brother on his terms."

"Ah, such a brave knight," Fendril crooned condescendingly, "a lady of your standing could ask for no better. Do not think that I have overlooked you, my dear. In the event you should become bored, I have invited guests to watch the sport with you."

The guards brought forward Mother and Murchad, ushering them to some wooden stools at the edge of the field. They both looked tired and worried, reflecting what I myself was feeling. Meeting Rian's eyes, he nodded, implying that I should join them and vacate the chosen field of battle. The callow young man that I had met in the tavern in Redcliffe was different now and the change was troubling.

Rian picked up the first buckler, taking a moment to take the heft of its weight as he swung it on his arm. The sword whistled through the air a moment and he picked up some dirt in his hand to dry the sweat and improve his ability to grip the hilt. He looked small in his tunic and breeches, facing my brother in an ornate leather jerkin, also an unfair advantage.

Fendril had begun to pace as Rian adjusted his shield and weapon, seeming impatient and uneasy in the face of his opponent's calm demeanor. The man with all the advantages was baffled by my knight, as was I. He could not control everything, regardless of his power and that was what irked him. To cover his discomfort, Fendril taunted Rian, "Come, knight, or has your courage deserted you?"

At that moment, something settled in Rian's demeanor. He no longer appraised the field or his opponent, and the straightening of his shoulders communicated that his course was set, there was no turning back. With an enigmatic half-smile, Rian answered, "Come, _coward_! Let us dance!"

_"…Things are changing. Be wary, though, those that you care for also have choices to make, choices that you cannot change. All that is certain is that things will move forward."_ The words of the elven woman I met in the Fade seemed to suddenly echo in my ears as the scene was laid before me, like a story being told by a master storyteller and I was the audience.

With Rian's words, Fendril charged forward without a second breath or pause, swinging his sword like a reaper bringing in the grain with a scything motion. It whistled thinly, just barely missing Rian's arm, but it caught the shield with an unforgiving bite and the wood cracked instantly. With the first buckler broken, Fendril withdrew slightly so that Rian could replace it with another. It only showed how lopsided the battle was between a long sword and a short sword. In order for Rian to make a blow, he had to get close to his opponent, while Fendril could carve pieces off from a less personal distance.

My Mother shook her head and muttered, "I had hoped that he would grow beyond his blindness, but he has doomed himself."

"What are you speaking of, Mother?" Murchad whispered, and I was barely paying attention since my concern was focussed on the action before me.

"Your Father's mother, the Arlessa Carys, intoned a curse against him and any of his line who would follow his example. I had hoped no child of my body would be touched by the curse, but your brothers have chosen their paths, just as you have done so." She said the words mournfully and with resignation.

"Let the curse fall," I spat, "let it strike me down as well, if only that Rian might be safe."

"Hush, you know not what you say," Mother looked stricken at my words.

My weary eyes turned to her then, "If not for me, then he would not be here. If not for me, he would be safe."

"A man chooses his path, Mae," my Mother chided, "who is to say what would have been if the world had moved differently?"

Before I could respond further, another sickening crack brought my attention back to the field and I inwardly cursed myself. Rian's second buckler was broken, but it had taken longer than the first one. He was taking Fendril's measure, just as he had taken the heft of his shield and sword before the beginning of the fight. Fendril, on the other hand, was basking in his ill-gotten glory, his step resembling a bullying rooster.

"That is two strikes in my favor, knight!"

When Rian remained silent as he retrieved the third buckler from the ground, Fendril continued to crow, "Enjoy the air, _knight_. The next few breaths will be your last."

Rian leveled his shoulders again, and nodded his head, indicating he was ready to continue. Again, Fendril charged forward as he had done twice before, with a whistling slice, but Rian was not there. He moved to the side, and as Fendril barreled past, he made a blow to his buckler, all the harder with Fendril's momentum pushing the buckler forward into Rian's short sword. The shield snapped at the edge, splintering the wood slightly and making it forfeit. Fendril had lost his first buckler.

Fendril howled in his fury at being clipped, throwing the damaged shield aside violently and grabbing up the next. His mouth curled in a sneer, "Lucky blow! Even the sun shines on a mabari's ass occasionally. It will not happen again, _whelp_!"

The next swing was wild, and also missed its mark, but Rian could not get a clean blow at Fendril's shield either. Fendril kicked out with his heel and struck Rian in the knee, causing him to stagger back as Fendril attempted a low sweep with his blade, but Rian rolled out of the way. He limped back and braced himself for Fendril coming around for another charge. This time Rian met Fendril's buckler with a sweep of his own. Both bucklers splintered with the force of the blow. What is more, Rian appeared to have injured his wrist and he winced painfully, cradling it against his chest, taking deep breaths to regain his focus. Fendril was on his last buckler, but Rian had none.

"Ha!" Fendril cried, "You have no armor, no shield and only a short sword to defend against a long sword. You will be dead before you can get close enough to make a final blow."

At that moment, Rian sprang forward from a near crouch, rolling like a boulder at my brother. One second Fendril was on his feet and the next his sword had flown far to his right as he lay on his back in the dirt. Rian had won by right since Fendril was disarmed. He pressed his sword to Fendril's throat a moment.

"Do it!" Fendril snapped up at his vanquisher, though fear danced on the edge of the voice. He wanted his life, but he was too proud to beg for it or he feared what Father would do to him when his loss was discovered.

"You deserve to die," acquiesced Rian, looking down at him, "but I am allowing you to live. We will take our leave of you. The Maker has afforded you an opportunity to choose another path. Be wise!"

With that, Rian turned on his heel and walked toward us. I ran to meet him and threw myself into his arms, holding him tightly, relishing the feel of him alive, mostly unscathed.

_What a fool I was to ignore the advice I myself had given only hours before!_

Fendril staggered to his feet after a moment and ran at us, a dagger in hand that I had not seen. It must have been concealed in his boot or in a sheath under his tunic. His eyes were glowing with rage he charged forward with a howl that no longer sounded human, but resembled the keening of a dying animal. As he bore down on us, Rian pushed me to the side with his good arm, leaving his injured, undefended arm open and the dagger found a home in my Red Knight's flesh. Rian gave a wet gasp and fell to the side as Fendril withdrew the weapon and turned its bloody blade toward me.

"I will carve the other side of your face and no man will ever look on you again," he cackled, near mad with bloodlust.

There was a cry from the ground as Rian awkwardly reached up with his short sword and used it to hamstring Fendril from behind, causing him to crash to the dirt with a surprised groan. Rian dragged himself forward as the blood flowed down his chest, coloring him scarlet, and managed to get high enough on his knees to make a final blow through Fendril's back, pinning him to the ground with a last burst of strength before crumpling beside him.

Crawling forward while Fendril made the last sickening gurgles as his spirit left him, I pulled Rian into my arms as he was gasping, "Svenya…love…I am…sorry."

"Hush, we have to get a healer. I will not let him take you from me! That _bastard_ will not have this!"

"Please," he pleaded, his words becoming weak whispers, "do not…waste this time…with…angry words."

"Rian, don't…" was all I could manage as my tears were flowing, mingling with his blood.

"I had…what I wished…most," he confided, the sound of his breathing had a sickening whistle with each breath; "For a moment…I was the knight…you needed me…to be."

I leaned in and kissed him then, soft feathery kisses for fear of hurting him further and no words would come to my lips.

"I love you!" were the words he breathed against my lips before his gaze found a light in the distance and the eyes of my Red Knight lost all focus.

There was a shrieking wail rising, and it was a few moments before I realized that the sound was emanating from my own chest. I gripped him to me and would not allow my Mother or Murchad to pull me away from him. As my choking sobs died down I finally heard what the others had been trying to tell me, there were approaching horse hooves.

I looked up in time to see my Father approach on the back of a dappled gray mare. He dismounted and approached with slow, deliberate steps, his yellow eyes taking in the situation at his feet as I gazed up at him, numb with loss. He paced around me and the two corpses, stopping long enough to nudge his son's face with the toe of his boot to, I assume, confirm that it was actually Fendril.

"Well, _daughter_," he allowed, looking down at me with the same calculating and hungry look he had always worn, "this is a _sorry_ sight!"

"_May the Veil take you!"_ I cursed as I spat on his boot.

He merely tutted at this before turning and calling over his shoulder to the assembled guards who had watched everything as men entranced while the tragedy unfolded, "Bring her to my study. Build a pyre for my good-for-nothing son and burn him. Leave the other body there for the wolves!"


	37. Interlude 12: Keening

_**Interlude 12: Keening**_

_Keen is the light_

_ that severs night from day._

_Keen is the whistle_

_ that calls the dog._

_Keen is the fear_

_ that accompanies courage. _

_Keen is the word _

_ that rejects the pretense._

_Keen is the silence_

_ that censors the fool._

_Keen is the eye_

_ that recognizes truth. _

_Keen is the laughter_

_ that wounds the proud._

_Keen is the sorrow_

_ that follows loss._

_Keen is the price_

_ that follows victory._

_Keen is the hatred_

_ that gnaws within._

_Keen is the blade_

_ that is both justice and mercy._

_Keen is the heart_

_ that knows the difference. _

_Keen is the love_

_ that heals the wound._

_**- Bard Svenya of the Mask **_


	38. Chapter 25: Torn Air

**Chapter 25: Torn Air**

_**Sister Letha of Cloughbark**_

The air was in tatters, undulating in the breeze with sparkling edges, like fluttering silk if it catches the light, but there was no light beyond the tears. The world beyond the frayed edges had no light or darkness. It was gray. Gray like the consciences of men concerned with convenience. The other place beckoned, it called, it cajoled, it cried of something beyond and it frightened me.

We had been tutored to be wary of such things, told of the dangers of demons. They never told us of demons that lived on this side of the Veil and wore the armor of men sworn to protect us and serve the Maker. I had never seen a demon possessing a mage, I had seen men assume the guise of demons by choice, embracing it like a new mission. They first came saying that we were blasphemies in the sight of the Maker, representing a false prophetess that broke faith with her husband and tempted all of the waking world into sin. They claimed Maferath was the true servant of the Maker, he surrendered Andraste to the hands of the unrighteous to be purified by flames as a sacrifice necessary to relieve the corruption of the female taint. The sin of men assumed that she was a savior and glorified her, forgetting the true savior. The false Templars claimed the world was wayward to follow the weakness of a woman instead of the strength of a true warrior.

Claiming true enligtenment, they cast us out and burned the Chantry. When we refused to be separated from our sacred duty they clapped us in chains. They condemned us to purification through labor along with countless innocents in the bowels of the caves beneath their stronghold, the abandoned bones of the domain once held by the dwarves. They banished us from the sunlight in their greed to plunder what should not be touched by men, poisoning those who they should have protected.

As I scrabbled through dirt and dust, as it glowed with the rock that the demon men craved, I prayed until my prayers became nebulous, until my words became slurred and downy with pain. My hands burned, my lungs burned and my mind burned. My eyes burned every time I rested them and vainly tried to sleep. The names of my sisters faded, the names of the people I served faded, the Chantry faded, and I vaguely gripped what little of the Chant I could snatch from the shattered scraps of my memory. The caves were dark and the days were interminable. All I knew was that I was trapped by demons and I vaguely prayed for release, any escape that the Maker could afford me.

They beat any who resisted, they beat any who slowed in their work, they beat any as it pleased their cruelty. I could no longer recall why they singled me out from the others. Perhaps it no longer mattered. I was beaten until it no longer hurt. The burning sensations making me nearly insensible to all else beyond the burning glow that we eked from the rock with shovels and picks and bleeding finger tips.

Then it happened and I heard the sound of water running free and smelled the soft air of the forest through a collapsed section of tunnel. I escaped, I ran with another in tow, though the fingers were slack, listless as I dragged the one I rescued behind. Sister Millicent? Sister Arabella? The hand was not reluctant and allowed me to pull her behind me after we stumbled through a gap in the cavern into the darkness of a night shrouded forest, the splash of running water licking at our ankles with each frantic step until we staggered onto dry ground. I heard indignant bellows, but dared not stop. To stop was death, to stop was a return to a den of demons. Heedless of the snatching fingers of trees and the tripping feet of roots, hurtling forward on staggering legs, we strove into the darkness from a deeper darkness.

Then there was the tattered air, the gaping mouth waiting to swallow the unwary into the unknown. Could it be worse than the yawning caverns that swallowed men and women, consuming their very souls? The moment of indecision and my sister staggered forward, transfixed, insensible to the dangers both before us and behind. She walked into the waiting maw, shaking her hand from my grip and I let her go unable to give voice to my terror. As afraid as I was to continue alone, I feared what waited crouching in the unknown far more. I ran away from the tattered door, leaving the baying of men like dogs. I kept running until I could remember nothing but the sensation of the wind and the thudding of my chest as I gasped for air.

Once I could run no more, I collapsed, feeling the caress of ferns and the press of yellowing needles against my cheek and I slept.

In the days that followed, I wandered the woods. I had eluded my captors, but I was senseless to my surroundings. The haze of my existence closed in and all I could conclude was that I would die and I no longer cared. Everything had been ripped from my hands and the only assurance I had was that death would return me to the embrace of the Maker. The air was clean and remained free of sound save for the howling of wolves in the night. The rest of the Maker's creation remained mute, as if the birds had forgotten how to sing.

When the sound of voices muttered in the waning light of evening, it broke the hush of the woods and caused something to stir at the edge of my mind. I tottered toward it, the call of a harsh man's voice made me pause, but I was unable to answer, unable to remember how until he swept back the greenery and threatened me with a sword, causing me to cry out in terror. He lowered his weapon on seeing me and spoke wavering words of confusion and tenderness, reaching out an empty hand but I was too frightened, cowering.

The chiding voice of a woman caused the man to retreat. Gentle hands stroked my hair and loosened the words from my lips, unraveling what was left of my memory. The only certainty was that the demons had not found me and I was somehow safe. The Maker was still merciful.

The burning ebbed, leaving weakness, welcome weakness for I felt surrounded by strength. They did not abandon me, they did not harm me, they sat with me and spoke softly to me. Eventually they no longer blended together. The matronly woman gave me sweet tea and helped the darkness to recede. The young gentleman held my hand on long nights and smiled down on me. Our benevolent guardian watched over us as grim as stone and in time I no longer feared him. He had not the heart of a demon.

We travelled, but I knew not the destination, knowing I would follow them as surely as I followed the Maker, but the memory of the torn air haunted me still, filling me with a foreboding I could not comprehend.

* * *

_**Sorry for the delay folks. Here is a very short installment, but I will be adding more soon_


	39. Chapter 26: Dancing with a Bear

**Chapter 26: Dancing with a Bear**

_**Alistair**_

"_Svenya is well."_

I kept repeating this to myself, over and over, holding it like the tiny thread of her essence that I had discovered during my time in the Fade. With every step towards our destination I recalled that same twinge, that echo of her that connected us and it comforted me amid the delays and the physical distance that lay between us.

In the Fade Svenya had looked well and whole. The threat to her had been removed by…whatever that thing was that I had confronted. When I had described it to Bruna she had lifted her eyebrows with interest, but she either could not or would not tell me what it was and therefore she asked for more information on the Fade Amalgam. My description of the horror seemed to genuinely concern her since the mysterious woman had said it had been created by something wandering through a tear in the Veil into the Fade from our world.

"I would say that is impossible," she answered grimly, observing during the following evening, "but I have lived too long to believe anything is impossible when it comes to the Fade. As I said before, I knew that the Veil was becoming quite thin in places around the Cauldron, but I did not think it could ever be so thin."

"Ragged doorway…" Letha muttered with a shudder as she rubbed the palms of her hands against her upper arms as if she felt chilled and were attempting to warm herself next to the fire. The evening had been cool, but I received the impression that it was more than that.

"What did you say?" I asked, turning to her and suddenly she cowered back and I cringed, realizing I had startled her.

In the day since my dream she had become shakier and Bruna discovered that she had a mild fever. The effects of the lyrium were still strong, though they had waned. Despite the fever, I had to make us press on and Bruna permitted it since there was not much else we could do for Letha and she was stable enough to travel.

As anxious as I was, inwardly I acknowledged that I would have waited and remained encamped for another day if Bruna had advised it. In my short time with her I discovered she had insight and would not back down if she felt strongly. It garnered respect to the point that she seemed to take all of us in hand like a woman leading children and yet it did not make either Ser Grey or me feel belittled.

Bruna placed a hand on my arm and stepped forward to speak to her, coaxing Letha gently, "What do you mean by a `ragged doorway' Sister?"

After a moment's hesitation, Letha squeaked, "The doorway was there, the air was in shimmering tatters around it. It breathed a scent neither foul nor fair. Whispered voices within beckoned. Did not want to go…ran. No one followed."

"Did she see a tear in the Veil?" I whispered to Bruna, "Or is this a result of the lyrium poisoning?"

"Perhaps it is both," she offered, putting an arm around the Sister and guiding her to her bedroll and wrapped a blanket around her, encouraging her to recline and go to sleep, "the lyrium poisoning might have enabled her to see it when normally she might not." I watched as Bruna soothed Sister Letha and the timid woman drifted off to sleep.

When Letha was quiet, Bruna began to brew more tea in her little copper kettle and I quietly inquired, "Will she ever recover from this?"

"I cannot say. I have rarely seen a poisoning this severe. Most people exposed to lyrium dust are usually only exposed to a small amount in passing at a luckless moment. To become like this she would have had to either been exposed to a large amount or had to have been exposed to it repeatedly over a vast period of time. She has enough of her faculties that she is able to move under her own volition and is fairly coherent, so there is hope. I am not sure what the Templars did to her and I fear pressing her because it could break her tenuous hold on reality."

"What are you whispering about?" demanded Ser Grey as he re-entered the clearing with more firewood, though I noted he used a more hushed voice, keeping in mind our nervous guest. He strove to be calmer in Letha's direct presence for fear he would upset her and I believe he felt guilty for frightening her so severely when he first found her.

Bruna explained, "We were discussing Sister Letha and her likeliness of recovery."

Ser Grey's face visibly darkened, "If I discover whose hands harmed her, those hands will be lopped off."

"Easy, Ser Lion, do not roar over it now," Bruna chided him, nodding to the sleeping sister, "There will be a time for justice or vengeance, but there is no point in dwelling upon it now. Save your strength and feed the fire. We must eat before it gets too dark and so we can bank the fire down to coals. We are going ever deeper into dangerous lands and lessening the light should help us to remain concealed from unwelcome eyes."

After Ser Grey took a deep breath, nodded and did as she bid. He did not even complain about her manner of address.

This journey had been a chastening experience for the man. In the time I had known him, he was a representative of all things precise. He did not surrender, he did not compromise, and he was as immovable as granite. The hardships we had faced together had slowly chipped away at a man who could withstand a battle without a wound. A man who could bring warriors to their knees and inspired complete obedience from younger knights allowed himself to be directed by women, something which would have been unthinkable mere weeks ago.

When Eamon had assigned Grey to me, I had resented the old knight. He acted superior and refused to bend. This was not the man who carefully fed the fire while being careful not to upset the small teapot. He seemed more human, more honed. He had complained and griped, but he had adjusted and, in my eyes, he had not been marred by the change. Others like him would have been broken by such twists of fate, but he persevered.

Admittedly, I had grown slightly fond of Ser Lion; though I knew telling him would probably humiliate us both. I vowed that when this ordeal was concluded, I would find a way to honor him appropriately and would more willingly make use of his talents in the future.

We ate a sparse meal and, as Bruna had advised, we banked the fire down to coals. The night silence was eerie in the darkness. Since we had passed into Cloughbark lands, the lack of bird calls or other sounds had only added to the sense of wrongness that pervaded this entire place. Occasionally the solitary cry of a mournful wolf was the only thing that broke the stillness, and that was not a comfort.

As I felt myself beginning to doze as I leaned against a tree, a sudden rushing in the brush to the East caught my attention. A heavy crashing accompanied it, as if trees were being knocked over and the sound approached. Both Ser Grey and I leapt to our feet, swords unsheathed and ready, just as a hulking shadow stopped short of the edge of the clearing. It stood two heads taller than the tallest man I had ever seen and was three times as wide. My mouth went dry.

You would think that a man who has faced ogres twice that size would not be troubled by a large bear. What you are forgetting is the claws. That is one thing ogres do not have. Its breath made steam in the darkness that was faintly visible by the dim light of the coals. It was one monstrous black shadow amid the trees.

Most bears, unless it is a female protecting her cubs, would have turned around and disappeared back into the woods on seeing a group of human beings. This bear continued to stand before us, as if considering us carefully. The sound of its rumbling breath panting made me edgy, but what disturbed me the most was looking into its eyes.

Even though it was dark I could see its eyes plainly, for they glowed with a haunting blue light.

Perhaps if we had remained still, it would have eventually left and not bothered us, but Ser Grey moved to take point and consciously place himself between where Sister Letha still lay on the ground and where the bear stood. A dry twig snapped and it sent the bear into a frenzy of motion, almost catapulting through the air in a blur, flying at Ser Grey.

Sister Letha stifled a cry as the bear made contact with the knight, barely missing her entirely as it threw Ser Grey across the clearing and to the ground. The thud the old knight made as he hit the needled forest floor was punctuated by a harsh grunt of air that was forced from his lungs. Ser Grey was not a small man, but the bear tossed him like a rag doll.

Bruna moved before I could, taking her tea pot from where it rested at the edge of the coals and tossing its contents right into the bear's face, blinding it with scalding water. The bear was distracted from the prone form of Ser Grey as it violently shook its head, roaring in pain, swaying from side to side with the power of its distress. I took that opportunity to attack it while it was distracted, plunging my sword repeatedly into its thick hide around its neck. It tried to attack back, but without its vision to guide it the bear was unable to hit me and finally crumpled to the ground in a hulking heap.

While I had been trying to dispatch the bear, Bruna had rushed to Ser Grey's side, dragging him free of the rampaging beast can tried to examine him. Once I was assured that the bear was dead, I struggled to stoke the fire again so that we would have enough light by which to attend to Ser Grey.

Bruna muttered under her breath as she ripped away what was left of the sleeve from his left arm at the shoulder. The bear had managed to slash at it and the gashes were deep. He had struck his head on the ground, and though there was no wound to his head, Ser Grey was mercifully unconscious. She put more water in the kettle and put it back on the fire and managed to pull a needle, some thick thread and some clean rags from her travelling pouch.

As she gathered what she needed quickly to attend to Ser Grey's wounds, I turned my attention to Sister Letha. The skittish sister had been greatly upset by the attack and sat with her knees brought to her chest, rocking herself, gabbling something I could barely make out until I got down on my knees next to her, "It glowed. It glowed with the hum. It smells wrong. It does not smell of forest. It smells of the glow. It hums still, even dead it hums."

I tried my best to hush her, carefully brushing back some of the loose tendrils of hair with careful fingers and taking one of her hands in a sure grip, "It is alright, Letha. The bear will not harm you."

"You saw the glow?" she questioned timidly, once some of the panic had begun to abate and the rocking had slowed, "It was not only me? The beast glowed with what should only be reserved for the Maker."

I nodded, not entirely sure of everything she was saying, but reassuring her that I too had seen the perplexing glow in the bear's eyes.

"I need your arm, your Majesty," Bruna called to me from where she crouched over Ser Grey. She looked grim. Certain that Sister Letha was calm enough that she would cause no injury to herself, I returned to Bruna's side.

She had managed to clean the wounds with hot water, but they were too deep to be left open. She needed to sew them closed. Unsure of whether Ser Grey would remain still, she needed me to forcibly hold him to the ground so that she could do the stitching. Physically lying across him, I managed to keep him still enough so that she could perform her needlework, even when he began to regain consciousness and thrash thinking that I was the bear still attacking. He gasped and cried out until we could make him sensible enough to know that we were out of danger.

"Is the Sister safe?" was Grey's first comprehensible question.

"Yes," I said, "she is safe. The bear missed her in its haste to dance with you."

He groaned, "Why can you not be serious?"

Glancing over at the carcass of the newly killed bear, I replied, "I'll worry about being serious when I butcher the bear. At least we will eat well tomorrow."

During this exchange, Bruna boiled more water and made a tea that would help Ser Grey and Sister Letha sleep. Once they were both secure on their bedrolls, she helped me to drag the bear out of the clearing and begin to salvage the gear that had not been completely destroyed by the rampaging animal.

By the wee hours of morning, the stars had faded and the dawn had begun to turn the sky gray, we sat together in our ruined camp and stared at the fire as it died down.

"You saw the glowing eyes," Bruna observed without removing her gaze from the coals that she prodded with a thin stick.

"Yes," I concurred, "Letha said something about the animal glowing too, but she also said that it hummed."

Bruna rubbed her eyes with a weary hand, "Letha is not the only one suffering from lyrium poisoning, it appears."

I felt my brow furrow with that information, "You mean…the bear…"

"No normal bear would have attacked us at this time of year." She sighed, trying to explain, "They are concerned with eating enough before they hibernate and it makes them slightly sluggish. That animal was sick and half crazed, though it had enough sense to examine us before flying at us. Lyrium can have strange effects on animals, but they rarely have access to it. Bears are more likely to be affected by it if they somehow come into contact with a stray vein in their caves, but even that would not have caused so heavy a taint that it would make its eyes glow blue with it."

"This is making me wonder…" I began before she finished my thought.

"…About the animal attacks that have suddenly begun occurring here in the Cauldron?"

I nodded, "Yes. We had been attacked by a pack of wolves. They seemed desperate but strangely in chorus with one another but their eyes didn't glow like this."

"Wolves are pack animals," she acquiesced, "they might have gained a certain amount of clarity from the lyrium that enabled them to work more efficiently together. It could have been a lesser taint which would have made them less erratic. Different animals respond differently depending on what is inherent in their natures."

I sighed, "We're not going to be able to eat the bear, are we?"

"I would not advise it," she confirmed before continuing, "In truth, we will need to bury the beast once daylight arrives to prevent other animals from getting into the carcass and becoming poisoned by its flesh."

"It would be easier to burn it."

"A bear that size would burn like a beacon."

"It would also probably be considered sacrilegious to give it a pyre."

"I am not sure of that, but I will help you to bury it come morning," she offered, "Ser Grey will be little help in such a task. I will have to sling his arm until it heals."

"This will slow us even further," I gritted my teeth in frustration, "We will also have difficulties defending ourselves in the event we have a run in with the Templars. If Svenya and Rian are in trouble, we will be unable to rescue them by force."

"I doubt force was ever an option in this situation," she allowed, "but do not lose hope. Mae is a clever girl. She may find a way to rescue us before the week wanes."

I shook my head, getting to my feet, searching the brush for a large branch with which to move enough soil to bury a bear, "May the Maker see fit to make it so."


	40. Interlude 13: Hospitality

**Interlude 13: Hospitality**

_Avvarian Folk Tale_

Once there was a strong clan that frequented the upper crags following their flocks. Their goats fared well and they often had more than they needed. Life in the upper ranges could be very hard and everyone relied heavily on one another for survival. To be separated from the clan was a death sentence for none could survive long alone without the fires of their family.

This clan had a very strong and harsh chieftain. He demanded complete obedience from all in the clan. To go against him would result in either execution or banishment. None dared to challenge him and all minded their tongues when he was near.

Late in the autumn, the clan migrated to one of their lower holds in a valley in order to bed their animals for the duration of the winter. They had taken pains to store mosses there that they gathered and dried during the course of the year on their sojourns, making frequent visits to the area in order to secure their winter stores. This preparation enabled them to weather the winters with little worry of running low of food for either themselves or their animals.

One year, as the clan travelled to the winter hold, some of the women foraging for mountain herbs came across two men, one old and stooped while the other one was young and tall. The two men hailed the women and asked to be brought before the chieftain. The women were wary but did as the strangers requested, bringing them before the chieftain who looked at the two men with a sour countenance.

"Please," the older man addressed the chieftain, "our clan was wiped out by a rival clan. We barely managed to escape with our lives. We ask to be allowed to join with your clan and winter with you. You will find us most helpful."

The chieftain shook his head and dismissed them with a wave of his hand, "You are old and can offer no strength to aid us. Your son might be young, but he could be clumsy with our animals. We must worry for ourselves and have no extra provisions for winter to care for the added burden of your needs."

The young man stepped forward, "Do not dismiss us hastily. We can offer you wisdom and aid that may surprise you. At least give us provision for one night."

The chieftain shook his head and refused to acknowledge the two men further. He brusquely walked away and went to see to his animals.

However, near at hand was the chieftain's daughter who was as compassionate as her father was harsh. She approached the two men when all had departed and spoke gently to them, "I can make provision for you, even from my own father's supplies and he will be none the wiser for he takes no account of what is in our stores since it is my responsibility. At the edge of the camp, between the two tallest fir trees, I will wrap some food and tools in a bearskin to care for your immediate needs. Follow our clan at a safe distance until we reach the winter hold. Look for me by the small river shortly after we arrive and I shall make further arrangements for you."

The two men blessed her and agreed to follow her instructions, disappearing into the woods. As promised, the girl provided for their needs for the journey and the men followed the clan at a safe distance, careful not to alert any to their presence. After two days journey the clan arrived at the winter hold.

Once again, the girl was true to her word. As twilight fell, she went to the river and signaled for the two men. When they came, she led them to a small cave hidden in a part of the valley not far from the goat pens. The cave offered shelter and she had arranged for blankets, firewood and some rude furnishings to make the men comfortable during the long winter months. She promised that she would bring food for them once a week from her own father's stores, reassuring them that it would be no hardship on her father's table. To supplement their food, the men would be able to hunt game on the far side of the valley away from the hold.

The two men thanked her again and she took their leave of them, promising to come back in a week's time.

The winter began and the chieftain remained unaware of his clan's unwelcome guests. Every week the chieftain's daughter brought food for the two men and even washed their clothes in the river with her own so they would not risk discovery. The men were quite grateful for her goodwill and often asked if there was anything they could do in return for her kindness, to which she would refuse graciously. The girl found the company of the men pleasant and would sit and talk with them of her clan and ask questions of the mountains during the evenings that she delivered their provisions. As time went by she became slightly enamored with the young man, but was careful to say nothing since her father had to approve her marriage and he would never accept a clanless man with no prospects. She allowed herself to enjoy their presence without requiring any recompense beyond.

Two months into winter, a sickness descended upon the goats. They became ill and refused to be milked. The clan became greatly worried and fear that the illness would kill the stock and leave them with no provision for the remainder of the cold season made them turn to the chieftain for reassurance. The chieftain became very tight fisted and began to watch the stores more carefully, making it difficult for his daughter to sneak supplies to her guests in the cave.

One night, when the daughter came to the men with the weekly provisions, she was able to only bring half of what she knew they needed. Her father had begun to ask questions and she had only been able to bring what she herself had spared from her meals at the table, hiding the food in her tunic rather than eating it herself. She was quite hungry, but knew that the two men would starve if she brought them nothing.

The old man saw her first when she walked through the mouth of the cavern and observed, "Child, you look wan and weary. What burden is it that you bear?"

The chieftain's daughter apologized, presenting the men with the food she had been able to spare, and explained about the illness among the animals and her father's sudden concern with the food stores.

The old man listened intently and nodded his head thoughtfully before comforting her, "I am aware of the type of illness that is afflicting your goats. It is one that plagued my own clan many winters ago and we managed to devise a treatment that saved our animals and even made them produce more milk and the females will bear more young come spring. I will concoct this remedy and you can administer it secretly to the goats in their pens during an evening. It is the least I can do to repay all of your kindness to us."

With that, the old man gathered some herbs that he had tucked away in a bag that he carried with him, muttering things over his breath as he ground up the ingredients with a mortar and pestle. When it had been ground, he boiled it in water over his cooking fire, poured it into a skin and put a stopper in the top. He handed it to the chieftain's daughter and instructed her to put it in the goat's drinking water. The girl accepted it gratefully and quickly took her leave of them before her father missed her.

The girl did as the man instructed and the goats miraculously recovered. The clan rejoiced that the danger had appeared to have passed and the chieftain went back to his ignorant complacency. The daughter was able to return to her routine of bringing supplies to the two men in the cave for many more weeks.

Later that same winter, a pack of starved wolves began to worry the clan. The beasts stalked among the trees, watching from the shadows with glowing yellow eyes and attacked the goat pens many times, preying on some of the weaker animals. The people became worried again and turned to the chieftain. The chieftain became stricter with the clan member's movements. None were allowed out after twilight for fear they would be attacked by the desperate animals.

This turn of fate prevented the girl from stealing away in the darkness and she had a difficult time escaping from her chores in order to bring the provisions that the men required. She constantly had to look over her shoulder and worried that her father would catch her unaware.

One afternoon, she stole away when she was supposed to be washing clothes at the river. She followed her path and brought the food as she had promised. When she came through the mouth of the cavern, the young man was the first to see her and he hailed her, "Greetings maiden, you are early and out of breath. What is it that pursues you?"

The chieftain's daughter apologized, presenting the food to him and explaining about the problem of the wolves and her father's edict forbidding her from leaving their home after twilight.

The young man nodded and reassured her, "We had problems with wolves during the winter. This pack must be having difficulty finding other game in these long winter months and have become desperate enough to attack your livestock. When it became a problem, our clan found a way to lure the wolves away to another place where they could hunt in peace and not bother us. I shall go out tonight and see if I can do this for you. It is the least I can do to repay all of your kindness to us. Be at ease."

The girl looked into the young man's eyes and saw that he was in earnest. She thanked him profusely and quickly returned to her chores before her father could discover she was missing.

The young man did as he promised and after that night, the wolves no longer stalked the winter hold. The clan rejoiced in the realization that the pack had moved on and the chieftain again relaxed his strict hold over his household, unaware of what had actually taken place.

No secret can be held forever, eventually someone will discover it. One night, when the girl stole away to deliver the provisions to the two men, he mother caught sight of her. Fearing for the girl's safety, the woman followed her and discovered the cave that housed the two men. She listened outside as the girl exchanged pleasantries and spoke with the men. The woman returned to her winter hut before her daughter exited the cave and did not mention it to her husband; for fear that he would punish the daughter severely.

The mother held her peace for many weeks, realizing that her daughter had done this act of disobedience out of the kindness in her heart and found no fault with her. She began to notice that her daughter smiled more and assumed that the daughter had fallen in love with the young man, since he was quite handsome and well formed. The mother began to sew a dowry for her daughter in hopes that the girl might be married come spring.

One evening, the chieftain noticed his wife humming to herself in the corner while she worked and asked absently why she was so happy. The woman, without thinking, said directly that she was sewing a dowry for their daughter's wedding in the spring.

The chieftain demanded why their daughter would be married without his consent. The woman realized her mistake and stuttered that she only assumed the girl would be married in the spring for she was of age and had grown quite beautiful. The chieftain became very suspicious after that and watched his daughter more carefully.

One night, he noticed that his daughter seemed quiet and, when his wife went to bed, he stayed awake to keep watch. The daughter, carrying something wrapped in an animal skin, snuck from the hut when all was quiet. He followed her to the edge of the village and discovered the cave just as his daughter stole inside.

He listened outside as his daughter exchanged pleasantries with the two men. When the chieftain peeked through the entrance, he recognized the two men as the ones he had turned away many months prior and realized that his daughter had disobeyed him. He left the cave, gathered a group of his strongest men and returned just as his daughter was taking her leave of her guests.

The chieftain had the men he had gathered drive the interlopers from the cave along with his daughter. They were conveyed to the clan's meeting place at the center of the winter hold. All were awakened to witness the chieftain's judgment upon his daughter and the two strangers.

The angry chieftain turned to his daughter and bellowed, "You have stolen food from my mouth and given it to these strangers. You have disregarded my decision that these men should not be carried by us." Then he turned angrily to the two men, "You are no better than thieves and scavengers. You have preyed upon us as surely as wolves."

The girl spoke up, appealing to her father, "These men have helped our village during their time here. The old man made a cure for our goats' ailment that would surely have wiped them out and left us starving. The younger man intervened with the wolves and lured them away so that they would not threaten us. They have both served us in ways we could not serve ourselves. Please, Father, be reasonable. They have earned a place among us." She bowed her head slightly as she continued, "If you insist upon punishment, Father, then let the brunt of it fall upon me. I made the decision to disobey you and I am culpable."

The chieftain was so angry, that he spoke without considering his daughter's words, "I am no longer your father. You are no longer my child. It were better that I should die childless than suffer a snake in my hut. You are banished. You are dead to me."

With those words the old man stepped forward and raised his hands high above his head. The mountains rumbled about them and caused all present to become silent and still. The old man scowled at the chieftain and before their very eyes his false form dropped away. His stooped figure straightened, his cloudy eyes cleared, his gray hair became aflame with red. He beckoned the young man to step forward. The young man became even taller, his muscles rippled and his eyes blazed a bright green that flashed with anger. All the people cowered back, including the rash and angry chieftain and his meek daughter.

"_**I have heard enough," **_boomed the once old man, he turned and pointed an accusing finger at the chieftain, _**"I am Korth, the Mountain-Father. You have denied me hospitality, even though you have lived off of my hospitality for many years here in my mountains. You have been sheltered on my land and never once acknowledged me. For that I should have stretched a hand of wrath against you, but your daughter's kindness made me withhold my judgment and for her sake I spared your life. You have also withheld hospitality from my brother, Hakkon Wintersbreath, but for the love of your daughter he relented from freezing your huts in harsh winds. Now you have banished her for showing kindness to us, an evil we cannot overlook. I claim her as a sister and my brother claims her as a bride. She will ever be a part of my clan and shall want for nothing."**_

With that, Hakkon stepped forward, embraced the maiden and carried her off, flying away on a gust of snowy wind. The clan watched with mouths agape and eyes wide, unable to move and afraid to breathe, but the Mountain-Father was not through venting his ire and he spoke again to the chieftain, _**"Now, for your punishment...you shall also be my guest. There is a mountain range far from here where you will live. You will wander its crags in the cold, alone. Never again will you know the warmth of a hearth for you rejected your daughter's warmth in your display of pride. However, I will not allow harm to come to you. I shall provide for you provisions necessary for your survival every week and shall prevent all illness from plaguing you. There you will remain until the mountains are no more."**_

At that invocation, the Mountain-Father placed a hand on the chieftain's shoulder and they disappeared, leaving the clan bewildered in the winter hold. Eventually they returned to their huts. They chose a new chieftain that spring and followed him, but they never forgot their previous chieftain or his daughter. They had no doubt that the daughter was living happily among the gods just as they had no doubt that the harsh chieftain lived in the mountains far away, separate from them forever. They knew all this for it was spoken by a god, and no one questions the words of a god.


	41. Chapter 27: Relinquishing Control

**Chapter 27: Relinquishing Control**

_**Bruna**_

_In the old tales, journeys are never easy. The unforeseen crouches in the shadows of the woods, waiting to strike a blow and rend maps asunder. The heroes are always the ones who meet the unknown with a willingness to bend, to deviate from the planned path, warily accepting guidance with a careful eye discerning the trustworthy. _

When I was a young girl, I had learned the tales from an elder woman of my clan along with herb lore and how to travel the pale paths of dreams. As I grew older and the tales coalesced into my sense of being, I learned to take the unspoken lessons to heart. Now, as an old woman, I was travelling a journey with a hero not of my choosing, but a necessary hero to save what I held dear. My world had been changing since I entered it, though they crept slowly upon us. Now the changes throttled us with the force of shooting stars and I vaguely attempted to hold on, but the old stories still rang true. In amidst the changes, things remained the same.

It became obvious we could not continue in the manner we had begun. We were robbed of one sword arm and had taken responsibility for a lyrium addled sister of the Chantry. The young king had difficult choices ahead of him and I questioned my ability to advise him. He respectfully looked to me for guidance in this land foreign to him, but unfortunately the land I had been born to was now foreign to me as well. Unseen hands moved against us and molded the land into something strange.

"We cannot continue to Cloughbark and collect Svenya and Rian while trying to care for Ser Grey and Sister Letha," the young man observed to me.

"You are quite right," I concurred, "We would be leading them into danger and hindering Mae's hope of escape. We do, however, have another option…"

We walked ahead of Ser Grey who escorted Letha, gently gripping her elbow in his free hand. She in turn helped to steady him, though she looked around her with worried eyes. King Alistair glanced back at them again to reassure himself that they were well before asking, "I would welcome any option you can offer."

"Though slightly out of our way to the Northeast, there is a winter hold of an Avvar clan. We could bring Ser Grey and Sister Letha there. I could arrange for the clan to care for them until they are stronger and then have a couple of the men escort them back to Herfirien. You and I could continue on from there, locate Mae and Ser Rian in Cloughbark and see to their safety." I suggested.

He looked troubled, "I do not like the idea of leaving Grey and Letha to the mercy of strangers."

"They are not strangers," I assured him, "not to me."

The questioning look he cast me as he waited for me to continue was framed with a furrowed brow. He trusted me, that I knew, but he was gravely serious in his responsibilities to those under his protection. Having Grey injured and being unable to prevent it had upset him, though he did understand that there was nothing he could have done to alter what had happened. Grey was equally driven to protect the Sister. At the same time, the king was worried for Mae and the Red Knight, concerned he would be unable to protect them from the cruel blows of fate while they lay beyond his realm of influence. His dreams haunted him and made him aware of how little control he truly had. Being forced to relinquish protection of one pair in the hopes of aiding another was a painful decision for any man, but it hung heavier on a king.

"The clan I speak of is the clan of my birth," I confided in hopes of providing reassurance, "they will aid us if I call upon the codes of hospitality we share and the duty they owe to their flesh, one who has sprung from their root."

He nodded, "I am troubled at the thought of leaving Ser Grey and Letha behind, but you are right. I cannot see any other alternative that will keep both them safe and enable us to meet our objective. The more we are delayed, the more likely Svenya and Rian will fall into treacherous hands. We will go to this winter hold and ask for the aid of your clan."

"Follow me closely," I led them on, "we are not far. We shall approach the hold before nightfall. From there, we can easily reach Arl Crewe's estate within a day or less. It will be well."

The memories of an old woman, however, may not take into account current realities. Before the gloaming fell, we entered the winter hold that I recalled from my youth, but it was no more. The huts were silent and bereft of the bustle of my kin. There were no welcoming fires. There was no bleating of animals penned in the winter paddocks. All was still and silent.

"Was it Templars?" Grey inquired, scanning what remained of the hold which had fallen into disrepair. Letha sidled closer to him, timidly eyeing the shadows.

"No," I shook my head mournfully, "it `twould be burned and only ashes would remain if the Templars had taken this place in hand. More like the clan was forced out or decided to nestle themselves further south towards Herfirien in order to avoid the raids."

"Perhaps they have merely not arrived yet for the winter," King Alistair offered.

The sigh wrung from me left me weary, "If this hold were still in use, the clan would be occupying it now and finishing their preparations for winter. These huts have not seen men for at least two winters, perhaps three. The roof is caving with rot on that hut yonder. It is too far gone to have been in recent use. The Avvars carefully see to such details so that the huts will last and not require vast repairs."

The young king placed a comforting hand upon my shoulder, sensing my sadness, "Would it be alright if we checked about for anything useful to us?"

"Aye, that would be fine," I allowed in a voice more brusque than I intended. Without a look or a nod, I walked away from my companions to examine what was once my home. My companions wisely allowed me to wander and did not call me back but set to work finding a hut that would serve for shelter during the night and collecting potential supplies from the discarded remnants of the previous occupants.

How foolish are an old woman's memories! I should have expected this, knowing the bend of the Cauldron's fate for the last five years. My people would neither have stayed, allowing the Templars to harvest or butcher them, nor would they have fought against a force that had superior weapons and tactics. These are a people not set in stone but ones who travel along the ways of the wind as it moves through the mountains. The mountains are home and not a single ice locked hold in winter. I shook myself free of my grief and returned to my companions, more composed.

The young king had commandeered a hut that was sturdy and the roof appeared to have few holes. A cheery fire had been built and Ser Grey sat in the doorway, resembling one of the sentinels that always stood outside of Arl Auber's estate. I assumed that Sister Letha was within, resting from the day's travel while King Alistair gathered some wood scattered around the hold, some of which was once rude pieces of furniture that had deteriorated in their abandoned state.

"It is not a bad camp," Ser Grey observed, "all things considered. It is easily defendable and we are less likely to be disturbed. The slope of the mountain wall and the trees conceal this place quite agreeably."

"Be careful, Ser Lion," I chided, reacquiring some of my usual humor, "one would think you were paying a complement."

He began to shrug, but the action caused his injured shoulder to twinge and he only managed to wince, grumbling, "This is preferable to sleeping on the ground in the open air is all I am saying. I am less likely to be mauled by any more wild animals here."

"True!" I agreed, sitting down to his right, leaning against the frame of the hut.

The old knight did not look at me, but continued to watch as the young king scavenged one of the other vacant huts, carefully considering each scrap within. He seemed to consider something before speaking again, "I caught pieces of your conversation with the king earlier today. You planned on leaving the Sister and me here with the people who lived here."

Seeing no benefit in lying, I admitted, "We thought it would be safer for both of you if you remained here and had someone escort you back to Herfirien. The king and I would travel on to Arl Crewe's estate in the morning and hopefully locate our two wayward heroes."

"I have become a liability." He rasped, but did not seem angry or sad. In his mind he was merely stating the situation as he saw it.

"You are no liability," I argued, "We would need someone to remain with Letha and see to her needs."

"Do not try to placate me with empty purposes," he growled, finally turning to face me, his eyes suddenly blazing, "I know that I am no use to the king in this state." He gestured to his arm, cradled in the sling.

"You may not be able to wield a sword, but you have value beyond the strength of your arm. Eventually your arm will heal." The answer sounded weak, but it still held truth.

He shook his head as if sullenly shaking a mane, "That means nothing now! I am reduced to standing like a scarecrow over a Sister so addled she knows not who she is or who I am."

"Your presence is necessary," I insisted, "and your king values you."

He sighed, his anger spent, "He listens to all. It does not mean that he values my words. My words are misspent and he has learned to disregard me."

It was my turn to shake my head, "He is young, yet, and is learning to find his way. The fact that he takes the time to listen and consider is comforting. Do not be so quick to dismiss him or yourself."

"I am so tired…" he whispered, "I am unsure if I will be able to return to Redcliffe."

I chuckled, "You have many years left to you, Ser Lion, mistake it not. You are not destined to be forgotten. There is more strength to you than even you suspect."

With that he sat down beside me, part of him relaxing now that he had given voice to his fear, "I cannot fault the decision. It would be an easier trek for you and him to leave us behind."

"We will continue on tomorrow. It will be well." I reassured him.

He looked at me again, "No. You will continue on with him and I will remain here with Sister Letha."

"That is not necessary," the insistence in my voice caused it to drop low, "we will go together and complete our objective."

He reached out and snatched my hand into his, causing me to turn and give him my entire attention. The eyes that looked me fully in the face were insistent, "What if we were to meet resistance? They could injure Letha or you and I would be able to protect you. If the young king has to divide his attention between the three of us in the interest of protecting us it could be a fatal distraction. He would never sacrifice any of us, even if it were necessary. If you go on with him you would be able to aid him, perhaps enable to avoid any unnecessary conflict that could put his life in jeopardy. It is no longer an issue of merely finding and protecting Lady Svenya or Ser Rian. Our king must return to Denerim alive or our country will be plunged into civil war. He only sees what is happening here in the Cauldron and he has forgotten the larger whole."

"Ser Grey," I reverted to his formal name, hoping to calm him, "I cannot speak to the needs of a whole country, but what will occur here will have a greater impact than I think any of us realize. The smaller concerns have a way of becoming larger as time passes. Once we believed the Templars were a small annoyance until they grew in power. Now they threaten the entire Cauldron. How long do you think it will be before they become a threat to the Chantry in Thedas or challenge the throne itself? Our king seems to appreciate the small, not realizing that it will be what shapes his reign. All things start small."

His brow became lined, reflecting his worry, but he released my hand and stared into the fire, "You may be right, but it changes nothing. Sister Letha and I will remain here. This place is remote enough that it will be easy to remain unseen and I should be able to defend us if it were necessary. When you and the king have collected Lady Svenya and Ser Rian, you can return to us and we will leave together. If the unthinkable happens and you are unable to return, I shall take Letha and try to find an outlying village. With only the two of us we should be able to get aid from strangers without drawing too much attention to ourselves."

We sputtered at each other, arguing the merits of our point of view back and forth as the sky continued to darken and the shadows cast by the flickering fire lengthened. The tone of the words varied from heated to weary, neither of us willing to acquiesce to the other's plans. Eventually silence reigned as we regarded the fire, refusing to look at one another, deeply troubled at heart. The young king found us like this, carrying an armload of kindling.

Dividing a few glances between the two of us, the king asked, "Who won the war?"

"I believe it was a draw," I admitted.

"She is impossible," grumbled Ser Lion, "I insist that you and Bruna continue on in the morning. Letha and I will be safe here until you return with Lady Svenya and Ser Rian."

"I have tried to reassure him that is unnecessary," I explained.

"I insist that it is," the sharp interruption from my counterpart prevented me from finishing.

The young king's eyes were troubled as he considered us both; unburdening himself of the firewood he crouched by the fire, rubbing his hands together to relieve his chilled fingers from the late autumn night. He opted not to speak, but held his silence, considering what had been spoken.

In that moment he seemed simultaneously so young and so old. We had heard some of the tales of our new king in Herfirien. We knew that he had been an active participant in defeating the Blight and in the final battle in Denerim. He had led men into battle and watched them die. He had reluctantly taken the reigns of the kingdom, diverting a civil war among the nobles. It could not have been easy for one so young, so inexperienced, but he had managed and maintained an obvious sense of humility.

He had been willing to leave Ser Grey and Sister Letha in the hands of capable individuals who could care for their injuries and convey them safely into the care of Arl Auber. To leave them behind in an abandoned hold while Ser Grey was injured in this manner was another thing entirely. It was not safe for them and King Alistair knew it.

When it appeared that he was about to speak, there was a sudden shriek from the hut, causing all of us to run within. Sister Letha thrashed in her sleep, crying out in terror from something apparent only in her dreams. I tried to approach and throw my arms around her to restrain and comfort her, but she threw me off and knocked me to the floor.

She leapt to her feet, eyes wide like a horse that is crazed with fright. With another shriek she bolted for the doorway past the two men, Ser Grey attempting to catch her by the sleeve, but there was an audible rip as she tore free from his grip. Her gracile limbs strained as she ran into the darkness, beyond the circle of light cast by the fire outside of the hut.

King Alistair barked over his shoulder, snatching up his sword as he pursued her into the darkness, "Ser Grey, see to Bruna. I will go fetch Letha before she can do injury to herself. Stay here!"

Ser Grey approached me and squatted next to me, assisting me with his good arm and steadying me. I had not been injured in my fall, but I was gravely worried for Letha. The lyrium poisoning apparently caused her dreams to be more vivid and made her feel as if she were being pursued. Running into the woods erratically was quite dangerous even if one were in their right mind. She could fall into a pit or trip over roots. She could come across predators.

As if sensing my thoughts, Ser Grey tried to reassure me, "The king will not return without her and he will not allow her to come to harm."

Unable to answer him for fear of betraying how deep my worry ran, I gently patted his hand. He led me to the fire again and helped me be seated, checking my limbs for possible bruises. When he found none, he stoked the fire again and offered me my battered teapot, wordlessly encouraging me to focus on something other than the helplessness we both had to face as we waited for King Alistair and Sister Letha to return to the safety of our camp.

_In the old tales, journeys are never easy. The unforeseen crouches in the shadows of the woods, waiting to strike a blow and rend maps asunder. The heroes are always the ones who meet the unknown with a willingness to bend, to deviate from the planned path, warily accepting guidance with a careful eye discerning the trustworthy. It is the role of the guide to relinquish control and allow the hero to find his way. _


	42. Chapter 28: Arrival at Cloughbark

**Chapter 28: Arrival at Cloughbark**

_**Alistair**_

Struggling to sheath my sword onto my back as I ran, I could hear the sound of Letha running just ahead of me in the inky darkness of the woods, the rasping sound of rustling leaves as she passed was unmistakable. She was panting heavily from both terror and exertion like an animal being pursued by hounds or hunters. Her flight was occasionally punctuated by a couple strangled screams, resulting from being caught at by branches as she ran. My only hope was that I could catch her without her drawing the attention of a predatory animal like the bear or something more sinister.

After crashing through the bracken in pursuit, I broke through the trees into an open meadow under an open sky. A partially waning moon cast a dim light by which I could just barely make out her form before she fell, potentially twisting her ankle and enabling me to close the distance between us. She tried to scrabble across the broken grass and away from me as I grabbed her around the waist and her struggling knocked us both to the ground.

She was overwrought with terror and I grappled to maintain hold of her, fearing she would injure herself in her mindless desperation to escape. I grunted through gritted teeth, "Letha, it is me! I'm your friend. Please calm yourself or you will get hurt!"

"They come," she sobbed, "They come through the tears, hungry, searching. The forest hums with them. They will find us unless we run far from here. Escape…escape…" She was gasping and choking with tears.

"It is safe Letha," I insisted, feeling her desperation abate with her ebbing strength. Her struggling began to lesson, allowing me to pull her close, rocking her gently in my arms like a frightened child. Her frame was felt rickety and weak now that she had spent herself and it made my heart ache to witness what she had been reduced to.

As she was reduced to mumbling and clutched to the front of my tunic, I started to take note of another sound: heavy horse hooves. It pounded in the night air and it was approaching fast. The ground nearly trembled with its erratic pulsing.

I made Letha lie close to the ground, hushing her and taking hold of her hand. Gently removing my sword from its sheath, I placed it on the ground to my side, ready to be grabbed as necessary. Cautiously I lifted my head above the tall grass to examine the riders.

It was a detail of roughly ten men, only some were wearing armor and they carried torches that lit their way. I could just barely recognize the shape of the helmets that proclaimed them to be Templars, but I could tell little else in the dim light cast by the torches. Those not armored appeared to be wearing rough tunics and breeches, but I could not get a good view of their features.

Suddenly they pulled their steads to an abrupt halt, the lead horseman wheeling slightly to face those following him, "You insisted you heard a noise like a woman screaming."

"I know what I heard. There was a woman screaming in this direction," another Templar insisted, his voice sounding insistent.

Another man shouted in a disparaging tone, "It was probably naught but a screech owl."

"When last did you hear a screech owl in these forests" demanded the second Templar, "or any other animal save for those Fade forsaken wolves?"

"You are becoming unhinged man," another rider reproached, sounding tired.

"Bah," huffed another, "superstitious nonsense."

One of the accompanying men without armor addressed the lead Templar in a denigrating tone, "Is this the quality of men that serve as Templars, Commander? I can see why Arl Boese was quick to request my services. No better than women this lot!" This man's voice was familiar, but I could not decipher where I had heard it before without a clearer view of the face.

The lead Templar trotted his horse closer to the man who had slighted his comrades, "Do not presume too much, Merc! You might have your uses but you are petty thugs compared to the might of these Templars. Know your _place_!"

I was about to turn my attention back to Letha when I suddenly felt a cold metal blade against my throat, "If you want to avoid having me slit your gizzard, do not move." I also heard the sound of my sword being pulled out of my reach.

I was pulled roughly to my feet, still gripping Letha's hand and pulling her with me, causing her to squeak. She wrapped her arms around my chest as I put an arm around her shoulders to steady her. As we were forced to stumble forward before our captor she clung to me and whimpered.

The man barked, "Quiet, bitch!" and shoved me again.

As we approached the man called out, "Boss, look what I found cowering in the tall grass." We were pushed roughly into the pale circle of light created by the torches.

"I told you a woman screamed," the nervous Templar piped up again before being silenced by a quick jerking gesture of the Knight Commander.

Refusing to dismount, the Commander rode closer to us and removed his helmet, allowing me to look at him closely. His hair was cut short, leaving nothing to soften his sharp angular features. His eyes were so dark they were nearly black. He examined us with the air of a farmer appraising livestock and he demanded, "What were you doing here?"

Letha's face was pressed into my shoulder and I could feel her entire body tremble. We had replaced her torn chantry robes so she probably resembled any other village woman. My tunic was dirty and my breeches torn from chasing her through the woods, so I also did not stand out to the eye. I looked up at the Templar and tried to maintain a neutral voice while looking into a face I had the strongest desire to spit into, "My sister and I became lost in the woods searching for knoutberries. We thought we heard the wolves prowling nearby. She became frightened and she screamed. When we heard you riding towards us we were unsure of who you were so we hid."

The Commander seemed satisfied with my explanation, but the man that had insulted the Templars previously also rode closer and took a careful look at me. At that moment I realized where I had met him before just as he recognized me, "I know you!"

"You are unfamiliar to me, Ser," I answered, praying inwardly to the Maker that he would not deduce where he had seen me.

"No, I have seen you before. I am certain." His eyes narrowed and then he asked the man who had found us, "did he carry a weapon?"

The man stepped forward, handing the rider my sword, and he examined it closely. On seeing my sword, the realization dawned on him where he had seen me before and he smiled that same smug smile I recalled from the road early in our journey when his men ambushed us. He turned to the Knight Commander and stated, "Though he appears rough, he is no mere villager. This sword is too fine to be used by a man to collect firewood and fight off wolves. He is one of the knights from Redcliffe that my men detained a few weeks ago. They had escaped and I heard from one of my men later that they were aided by a woman wearing a mask. Would this be her, I wonder?"

This information struck a chord with the Commander and his eyes flashed, "A woman with a mask? My men were conducting a winnowing near Herfirien and had lost some of the villagers who were also aided by a woman with a mask. This is more than a coincidence."

"Bind them," the mercenary commanded his men before addressing me again; "you are going to wish we had ransomed you back to Redcliffe."

The mercenaries grabbed us roughly while the Templars seemed content to witness it. Letha began to cry and mutter incoherently as they dragged her away from me. I pleaded with them, "She is not the woman who wore the mask. She is a woman who was kind to me when I was separated from the rest of my party. She lives not far from here. Please let her go."

"You were with a group of knights," the lead mercenary continued without heeding my request, "Aside from the ones we killed, there should have been four more of you."

"The older knight died of his head wound, two were sent back to Redcliffe and I was separated from my other comrade along with our guide. I have been wandering the woods for days." I answered reluctantly, "This woman tried to help me."

"Then she will be very sorry she did so," the Knight Commander intoned darkly.

I tried to argue, hoping they would let her go and Ser Grey would find her later, "She is of no value to you. She is one woman. Be merciful and allow her to leave."

"All hands can serve the Maker," the Knight Commander recited, "All benefit from the opportunity to be purified through labor. She will come with us and perform penance."

On hearing these words Letha began to moan and shake her head violently. Even with my hands bound I shook off the two men who held me and ran to her, putting my bound arms over her head and whispering calming words. I had not forgotten what Svenya had said about villagers who fought back, they were made into examples.

"How touching," crooned the mercenary sourly who snatched me back, but my touch had the desired effect. Letha began to calm slightly, though she remained distressed.

"What would you do with them?" the mercenary addressed the Knight Commander.

The man put his helmet back over his head, "We are slated to report in to Arl Crewe and deliver a missive from Arl Boese before returning to the compound. They will accompany us. We should arrive there by morning rather than wasting the night camping."

"He did mention that he was separated from another knight and a guide. Should we not search them out?" The mercenary inquired.

The Knight Commander answered him in pointed tones, "Since they escaped from you, it seems only fitting that you and your men locate them. When you have them, bring them to the compound. I can spare you no more men or time for it draws short."

"Oh, how I will miss you," the mercenary muttered under his breath before giving me another smug nod and riding off with his men, leaving us alone with the Templars.

Mercifully, one of the Templars hoisted Letha over the front of his saddle where she continued to whimper and moan but did not struggle. I was forced to jog behind, with my hands bound and tied to another Templar's saddle by a long rope. They stopped to rest sparingly and kept a brisk pace, eager to reach Cloughbark by morning.

Mentally I struggled to find that tone that I recalled from my dream, the one that bound me to Svenya. It still vaguely clung to me and by focusing on it I managed to keep up and avoided being dragged behind the horses. I tried recalling Svenya's stories and her songs to help me pass the time and to help distract me from the burning sensation as it built in my muscles. Even during the days of the Blight I had not been so bone weary.

The hours passed and eventually the sun rose as I willed my body to become numb to the punishment of the forced march. I was parched, my tongue cleaving to the roof of my mouth.

"Water…" I finally panted. The Templars did not look at me friendly, but they did not desire for me to die before reaching Cloughbark, so they stopped long enough to offer me the water skin and sit for a moment. Letha had managed to fall asleep and I was grateful for they would not harm her as long as she remained complacent.

Not long after sunrise, a large estate came into view. It appeared to be all gray stone and black slate roofs, with a high wall around it. The surrounding trees had already lost their fall leaves and resembled skeletons, warning off the unwary. Even at a distance it looked forbidding.

The Templars rode into the courtyard with me in tow and the gates made a sickening crash as they closed behind us. This was the destination I had longed for and now I was trapped.

My head began to spin and I found I could no longer remain upright in my exhausted state. I collapsed to the ground and vaguely registered Letha's cry as she wriggled free of our captors and staggered to me, pulling me into her arms, yammering incomprehensibly in her distress. I tried to pat her hand and soothe her, but I was spent. My eyes were closing just as I heard the Knight Commander order the guards, "Drag those two to the dungeon while we meet with Arl Crewe."


	43. Interlude 14: Tragedy of Shamas Goodson

**Interlude 14: Tragedy of Shamas Goodson**

_A Legend of the Chantry_

_Even the holy and righteous are not immune from temptations offered by spirits of the Fade. Their good intentions can be manipulated to serve the purposes of the envious children of the Maker. Heed the warning of this tale and be wary._

During a time of great tribulation the Veil became thin in distant parts of Thedas. Tales spread of the dead not resting and walking among the living in the land. The Divine Hortensia III received a vision from the Maker through a dream, revealing that this thinning had caused six troubled spirits to escape from the Fade and pass into the world of men. These spirits had the ability to possess the bodies of the newly dead or those that invited their presence and become Revenants, powerful foes that killed without mercy and haunted the living. If left to their devices, these spirits would wander in the forms of men and sap the lives of those unfortunate enough to fall into their paths.

In response to the vision, Hortensia III chose a group of six Templars by lot to carry out the holy mission of exorcising the abominations that walked in the world of men and preyed on the faithful. These men were Maurice Herenden, Aubrey Chowring, Herlewin Payne, Savaric Kynton, Giles Nash and Shamas Goodson.

In their quest these men became closer than brothers, relying on each other in both strength and weakness. In their journeys they travelled across Thedas and even into the deep places in order to trace their quarry. Savaric had been touched by Andraste herself and guided his brethren, discovering where the demons roamed. As each spirit was exorcised, the Templars joined in a ritual of prayer and sanctified blood, binding the essence of the spirit, trapping it within a vial and a scrap of paper, binding the spirit with the true name of the host. Herlewin was chosen as guardian of the vials, with the intention of bringing them before the Divine herself to destroy with the aid of the Maker.

During their time of travel, after the first four spirits had been found and contained, the six Templars received word that the family of Shamas Goodson had perished in a fire and he was called home to lay them to rest. Shamas became despondent in his grief and his brethren accompanied him to the lands where his family dwelled to offer comfort.

In the time of the journey, the fifth spirit, a cunning apparition, whispered within Shamas' dreams for five nights. Each night the spirit promised that if Shamas became his host and freed the other spirits that the brethren had captured, he would provide Shamas with unimaginable power. Valiantly Shamas resisted.

On the first night, the spirit came to Shamas in the form of his father. The spirit whispered to Shamas of the strength of arms that the spirit could provide. Shamas would be invincible to injury and impervious to pain. He could overcome any opponent and win glory for his name.

Shamas was not fooled, however, and answered that Andraste had conquered the hearts of men, not with the power of arms but with the word of the Maker. In the face of his resistance, the spirit fled before morning.

On the second night, the spirit came to Shamas in the form of his mother. The spirit whispered to Shamas of the allure of land. The spirit promised him land from horizon to horizon, so far that it could not be ridden across in a day. With this land Shamas could be the king of his own country, answerable to no man's whim.

Shamas was not fooled, however, and answered that Maferath had betrayed Andraste in a bid to retain the land that they had conquered from the Imperium. In the end, Maferath was executed by his own sons and had brought shame upon his name, denied the face of the Maker in his time of death. In the face of his resistance, the spirit fled before morning.

On the third night, the spirit came to Shamas in the form of his revered brother. The spirit whispered to Shamas of the allure of youth. The spirit promised that with his help Shamas would never grow old, he would never experience the outrage of infirmity. Forever would he be a paragon of magnificence. All would be awed by him and he would be loved by many.

Shamas was not fooled, however, and answered that the Maker had taken Andraste as his bride, not for her physical beauty, but for the purity of her spirit as it flew to him through her prayerful hymns. She did not fall prey to vanity and her spirit is what lives on with the Maker, free of the mortal trappings of the body. In the face of his resistance, the spirit fled before morning.

On the fourth night, the spirit came to Shamas in the form of his wise grandfather. The spirit whispered to Shamas of the allure of fame. The spirit promised that all of the known world would hear of him. He would be remembered through the ages and people would sing his praises. He would even be revered by the Divine herself.

Shamas was not fooled, however, and answered that Andraste had sought no fame for herself. She was content to spread the word of the Maker and honor him above all. Even after victory she bended knee and humbled herself before the Maker's sight, offering him all glory and claiming none for herself. It is for this that she was remembered and honored. In the face of his resistance, the spirit fled before morning.

On the fifth and final night, the spirit came to Shamas in the form of his beloved younger sister, her hair golden and the blush of youth barely coloring her cheeks. The spirit whispered of the power to restore the dead to life. He promised that if Shamas agreed to be his host and freed the other spirits trapped in the vials then he could possess the power to bring his family back to life.

Shamas' heart was heavy with the loss of his family. Faced by the guise of his sister, his resistance crumbled into dust. Giving in to despair, Shamas accepted the spirit's offer. The spirit howled with glee as he took possession of Shamas' body and tainted his soul.

The other five Templars were awakened by the sound of thunder and watched in awestruck horror as their brother in arms rose from his bed as a Revenant. With heavy hearts they drew their swords and repelled their former comrade, now a dark fiend. Shamas tossed Savaric into the air, impaling him on the dark blade, barely short of skewering his heart. Herlewin's thigh was near crushed with a sweep of the Revenant's gauntlet. The injured Templars fought on until the pale of morning, their bodies flagging and their hearts filled with sorrow.

As the light of the Maker enveloped them in the dawn, they were renewed. They received the power necessary to defeat the Revenant and bound him to a vial, inscribing true name of Shamas Goodson and sealing it with their blood, flowing from open wounds received in battle. They collapsed to the ground and mourned the loss of their friend, one who fell before the eyes of the Maker.

It became apparent to the remaining five that with the loss of their comrade, they might not be able to bind the final spirit with two of them sustaining dire injuries. Also there was concern that the binding of the fifth spirit might not hold with only the five remaining Templars to perform the rite, causing the vial to be fragile and weakening the hold of the remaining vials. It became doubtful even that the Divine would be able to contain the restless spirits or destroy them simultaneously. They prayed for guidance from the Maker and his bride, requesting succor in their injuries and aid in the form of a holy champion.

Before the year was out, the Maker spoke to each in dream visions, guiding them to the final place of battle and enabling them to seal the final rogue spirit in a vial, but that is a tale for another night.


	44. Chapter 29: The Strong Tree

_**Chapter 29: The Strong Tree**_

_Svenya / Maerwynn_

"Maerwynn," my father sat in a favored chair in his study, and gestured to another ornately carved chair, "would you care to take your ease?"

"I have spent most of the past day in a cell in the dungeon. I would prefer to be returned there." I refused, my voice devoid of emotion. Inwardly I felt empty and my clothes were stained with Rian's blood. There was nothing he could do to me that compared with what had already occurred.

He sighed as if speaking to an uncomprehending child, "Ungrateful wretch! You always were obstinate, blind to the larger scope of the world. You were ever a thorn to me."

"Such is the state of all roses," I answered flatly.

He shook his head, "You were never a rose, my dear. Even before your unfortunate….mishap"

"Is that what you have told yourself all these years," I inquired, "that it was a mishap, a blunder that you made in an ill-advised moment."

"How else should I view it?" he smiled thinly.

There was no use discoursing the points of my father's egotism. In his view we were possessions to be maneuvered and manipulated to achieve the ends that he desired. Though the years had mellowed him to the point that he no longer flew into a rage at the mere suggestion of insubordination, but that did not make him less dangerous. His cunning remained and the cold demeanor meant that he pondered the cruelty of his actions and they would be far more exacting.

"I presume that you did not come to speak with me." He asserted this with his demeanor betraying nothing of his underlying motives. He seemed too calm and not in the least surprised at my presence.

"You have surmised correctly, Father," I assented warily, wondering where this line of discussion was leading.

"Then you came to see your mother," he continued, his eyes had a dull gleam that caused me a deep sense of dread, "and based on her current state of health, it is also reasonable to surmise that you have assisted her."

I stared at him and refused to speak.

"For years I considered what would happen if your mother should be threatened. Bruna had to be aware of how to reach you, but your Uncle Trian would never allow me to take her from his household or trespass on his lands. An open fight with your Uncle would have been unwise…" he smiled again, "but I had to do very little. When your mother spoke against my actions with the Chantry and I confined her to her quarters I had not anticipated her falling into such a sleep. Once again, Bruna would never come here for fear that I would detain her, but your brother Murchad thought I would remain unaware when he slipped away one night, charging the servants to maintain he was ill and could not leave his bed. The young fool honestly believed that they would keep his secret in the face of my wrath."

"You knew…" I glared at him in disbelief.

His smile extended and he steepled his fingers before his lips in an expression of thoughtful amusement. The bastard had foreseen what Murchad would do to save Mother. He also assumed that I would return if she were ill.

"Now that you have returned to us," he gloated, "we should decide what must be done with you."

"By _`we'_ you mean _`you.'" _I rejoined, my voice laced with disgust, "Are you even troubled by the death of Fendril?"

"Are you?" he countered grimly, "As for me, I resigned myself long ago to the fact that he was an oaf. He too was short sighted, thinking that this arling was enough. Thus it illustrates the benefit of having a spare. I had long suspected that Ronan would inherit. He has long plotted to replace Fendril and that dolt had been completely oblivious of his brother's machinations, much like my brother had been. In the end it appears Fendril saved Ronan the trouble. I am sure Ronan will thank you personally for your small role in your oldest brother's demise."

It was more than I could bear; I flew at him, knocking him backwards in his chair. Gripping his velvet tunic I shook him, trying to strangle him. I wanted to rid the world of his evil callousness. We were all pawns.

In the red haze of my anger I was oblivious to the hands taking hold of my arms to restrain me. The guards had heard the commotion and rushed to aid my father. I struggled, lashing out at the men who held me, I even managed to make a gash across one of their cheeks with my nails. Once I had been under the control of the guards, my father stepped forward and backhanded me.

At this moment the quiet callousness was gone, replaced by rage, his eyes blazing as he gripped a handful of my hair and bellowed, "Wench! You owe your existence to me! You are a possession, an object! The same as your mother and your brothers! I do not require your consent!"

He began to pace the room, panting as he tried to regain his composure. When he spoke again his voice was empty, "This was _unfortunate_. I had hoped that your years away might have gentled you. Apparently living amid the peasantry has merely turned you into a savage."

"Living independently of you offered me a sense of pride. I learned that not all men sought to dominate women or abuse children. I learned that some men treat women with dignity and there are choices available to those willing to work rather than live off the misery of others." I spat, feeling my face burn with the swelling where his hand had struck me, "Any savagery I possess I inherited from you!"

With this he gave a humorless bark of laughter and held up the mask that my brother had collected from me, "Truly? Then why wear this like some whorish Orlesian bard? Men are all the same. When they see weakness they exploit it. I am not the exception, I am the _rule_!"

"You pathetic little tyrant," I taunted, unable to regain control of my tongue, "your life is so narrow you know naught else. I have seen the whole of Thedas beyond you. I have known gentle men."

"Like the one whose corpse lies in the dust and whose blood has painted you scarlet? You have listened to romantic tales far too long, _Daughter_, but even in the tales such men do not last. They are dispatched by the strong and the ruthless, the ones who rule over them. Return to reality, for now you have returned to my realm and here I rule. No one defies me and lives." He roughly hooked his finger beneath my chin and forced me to look at him.

"Then it is a mercy that I have not long to live," I countered, smiling slightly, "for I will never live beneath you again! _ I will not yield to you_!"

With that he snorted and released my chin, walking resolutely to his desk, "What about your mother? What about your brother, Murchad? Would you fight me at their expense? We shall see, _Daughter_, we shall see." He made a quick wave of his hand and the guards escorted me from the room.

Instead of taking me to the dungeons, the guards dragged me to my mother's quarters. Once they unlocked and opened the door I was thrown unceremoniously to the floor and slammed.

"They did not throw me in the dungeon?" I questioned incredulously as my mother rushed to my side to help me to my feet.

Mother sadly shook her head, "Mae, this estate _is_ a dungeon."

* * *

A dark red gown made with thick brocade was brought for me by silent servants with downcast eyes to replace my stained clothes and I was tempted to refuse it. My mother coaxed me to change out of the clothes, warning me that my father would take his displeasure out on the servants. At that moment I looked at the woman who had brought the new gown and noticed that she seemed ready to cringe and her wrist showed obvious bruising just below her cuff. It was one thing for me to risk my father's wrath, but to cause these people to be subjected to it was unforgiveable. I found that I was trapped again. I could agree to small concessions for their sakes.

My mother helped me to bathe my face and sponge the blood from my body. The tunic I had been wearing had the dark brown stains and I tenderly removed it, folding it gently. When the servant moved to take the clothes I stopped her, "Please leave that behind. I want to keep it."

Placing a hand on my shoulder, my mother apologized, "I am sorry. He was a good man but you could not do anything to alter what happened."

"You do not understand, Mother," I rasped, tears welling in my eyes, "Rian was only here because of me. Uncle Trian did not want me to come here, he wanted me to return to Denerim to rally help from the king. What the Templars are doing here is a gross abuse of power. In my time travelling I found out what the Chantry is like elsewhere. The Templars are intended to serve the Chantry and the Divine. If the king of Ferelden chooses to do nothing, we still have hope of sending word to the Divine in Orlais. I slipped from Herfirien during the night, Rian tried to stop me, but I would not be dissuaded. He came to protect me."

"He must have cared for you a great deal." She looked at me with her soft eyes, knowing what this meant and I hated myself for not realizing the depth of Rian's regard until the end.

His confession of love hung on me, causing spasms of guilt that practically closed my throat. If he had cared less he might have let me go. If he had cared less he might still be alive. In the end, I had led him unknowingly into a trap, causing him to be another victim of my family. My Grandmother Carys may not have intended it, but I was equally cursed, luring men to their deaths despite my best intentions.

The tears coursed down my cheeks, but I would not sob or cry. The heaviness in my chest strangled my grief, making me mute. My mother read my despair and drew me into her arms.

"My Mae," she beseeched, "do not let your grief poison you."

"How can I not?" I choked around the prickling in my throat.

Leading me to a chair and kneeling beside me, she offered, "You walked the woods with Bruna. Did you ever see the inside of a rotted tree?"

"Yes," I answered, perplexed, "she could find the best herbs around rotted trees where sunlight crept through a hole in the forest canopy and the soil was usually richer there."

"Some trees begin to rot from within or are hollowed out while they are still standing. The tree can survive like this for many years and even bear fruit. However, when a strong enough wind blows, the tree has no substance with which to withstand it. The tree will splinter and fall. Your heart is what gives you strength. If you allow yourself to become hollow then your father wins." She stated this, looking at me with an intensity that I had not remembered in her.

"How can you be sure?" I asked, feeling the ache in my own heart acutely.

She smiled, the tears shining at the edges of her lashes, "Because it enabled you to find me. Only a strong heart could achieve that. You promised that we would find a way to live free of your father and I believe that you will make that possible. Do not lose hope."

"What if I can't?" I sobbed, "What if he only brings us more misery and visits that misery on those around us?"

"Listen to me," she exhorted, "whatever happens, do not let him use me or Merchad as leverage!"

I looked at her in disbelief, did she even know what she was asking and she continued, "He has used Bruna against you and, from what you have said, he allowed my condition to lure you back here. I do not know what he has planned, but if he threatens violence to me, do not give in."

"No mother," I wavered.

"Yes," she insisted, "What more can he strip from these bones now?" Her eyes were adamant and her hands gripped mine, the strength making an impressing on me how serious she was. It reminded me how she had been in the Fade: at peace, without worry. She had initially refused to return with me, but I convinced her to come with me, all for this. My father had twisted my regard to help trap us all. She asked me to be willing to be willing to allow Father to torture her or Murchad to prevent him from taking advantage of me. I could withstand alone, but I could not allow him to harm them on my behalf.

I leaned forward, placing my head upon her shoulder, too weary to speak. How could I hold onto my heart if I sacrificed everything it was tied to?

* * *

My father did not send for me or my mother during the next day or the day after. Simple meals were brought to us by frightened servants who refused to speak and we waited. To pass the time, my mother encouraged me to tell her the stories I had collected in my years away, before I settled in Lothering. I spoke of my late husband and son, causing her to weep. I also described our journey to reach Herfirien and what had occurred in the village that had been targeted by the Templars.

"You stole into a village being winnowed?" she gasped, "What possessed you to risk being caught by them? They would surely have executed you if you."

"Sellose believed we could help the villagers and Rian sided with him. With them at my back I could face a darkspawn horde, Mother. They are amazing men. I had never met their like prior to this." I insisted.

She smiled to herself as she carefully stitched at her needle work, "Ser Sellose is the one who taught you to use a sword?"

"Rian was injured for a length of our journey, making it necessary for me to learn how to wield a sword. Ser Grey had protested, but Sellose insisted on teaching me anyway. Eventually Ser Grey and I had a sparring match, but that was a disaster." I explained, smiling despite the fact that thoughts of Rian made my chest tight and the grief filled me all over again.

"Do you think Ser Sellose and Ser Grey will be able to rally support from the capital?" she asked, the implications suddenly occurring to both of us. If they convinced the king to send troops against the Cauldron Templars, perhaps they would be able to free us.

"I hope so," I confessed.

By then, we were into our third day of isolation, save for our meals. I paced the length of the room occasionally, my mind wandering to Sellose and Ser Lion, hoping that their return to Denerim would be less eventful than our trip to Herfirien had been. It at least it offered hope for Uncle Trian to have relief from whatever my father and Arl Boese had planned.

A heavy knock on the door broke the silence and caused my mother a look of fear. When the servants brought food their knocks were light, as if they feared to disturb us. This knock obviously came from a closed fist.

The guards that entered were sullen and stated, "Lady Maerwynn, we have been sent to fetch you to Arl Crewe."

I nodded, allowing them to lead me from the room, casting a single look to my mother before one of the guards closed the door. The guards made no move to place a hand upon me, as if they feared marring the gown, but opted to walk on either side of me. We approached my father's study and I was ushered inside, but my father was not alone. A Templar was with him, though he did not wear his helmet. He turned to me with an appraising eye but I refused to acknowledge him, looking instead to my father to discover his pleasure.

"This is my daughter, the Lady Maerwynn Crewe." My father addressed the Templar, extending his hand toward me as a gesture of presentation.

The Templar spoke not a word, but instead walked around me, examining me from every angle. My flesh beneath the fabric of my gown began to itch. The dark eyes disturbed me with their mixture of cold hunger and vague disdain. It seemed queer that I could both repulse and attract someone simultaneously.

"Maerwynn," my father addressed me and I focused all my attention upon him so that I could ignore the fact that the Templar was blatantly staring, "This is Ser Helyas Mannering, Knight Commander of the Templars."

A sudden knot formed in my stomach. I was trapped in a room with two monsters and no means of escape.

"I have heard a great deal about you," Manning finally spoke, but the tone was anything but pleasant. He was obviously not impressed by what he heard.

"Have you nothing to say, Daughter?" my father asked in a disinterested tone.

"Should I, Father?" I rejoined, unsure of what he was angling for that caused him to coax me to speak.

"Perhaps you could regale our guest with tales of your travels," offered Father, his eyes containing their cold light of interest that always boded ill.

I shrugged, trying to maintain a cool demeanor, "There is not much to tell. For a time I travelled before settling down with my husband in a farm in Lothering."

"And where is this husband now?" Manning asked, suddenly interested and my father looked mildly uncomfortable.

"He died during the Blight," I explained, fighting to ignore the lump that swelled in my throat, I would not give them my emotions. Let them speculate what they wanted.

Manningnodded before asking, "You appear to have been injured, my lady." He gestured to my face. Though the swelling had gone down since my argument with my father, there were black and blue traces from where he struck me.

"Do you refer to the bruises, Ser?" I inquired off-handedly, "Or perhaps you refer to the scars? Either tale could be related by my father. He is quite adept at explaining things that are unpleasant."

Manning smirked slightly at that before turning his attention back to my father, "You were right, she is quite spirited. No doubt she inherited her stamina and wit from you, Arl Crewe."

"She is witty enough that I am sure in time she will learn to curb her tongue," my father replied with mild annoyance.

"I have merely answered when spoken to, Father." I pointed out to him, "It does not require wit to answer honestly."

The Templar pointed another question at me, "So, you are witty enough to remain warm?"

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, my mind chiding me to remain careful in this man's presence. What else can you find in a snake's hole but a snake?

I returned without a discernable pause, "It would depend upon the nature of the cold, Ser."

"In my time in the Cauldron I have learned that it can become quite cold," Manning walked leisurely towards my father's desk as he spoke, "One could have frozen fingers or toes if one does not properly prepare and wear appropriate coverings. This for example could prevent one from suffering a frozen nose." With that he lifted up my mask that had been lying on my father's desk, his eyes showing displeasure.

"I suppose it might, Ser." I answered, "I myself wore the mask as part of my occupation. It is a common custom in Orlais for people to wear masks, particularly bards. I myself worked as a bard during my travels and found that the mask afforded a certain amount of mystery to my persona and attracted the curious."

"You practice Orlesian customs," he pressed.

"Some," I allowed, "though I also practice Avvar customs and the customs of the Chantry. We are a people influenced by many things. One learns to adapt."

Manning's mouth twisted into something between a sneer and a grimace, "I have heard rumors that bards are spies."

"I have heard similar rumors, but that is usually reserved for the Orlesian courts and this is _not_ Orlais." I stated, feeling that we were headed into dangerous territory and wondering where Manning was leading with this line of questioning.

"I find it strange," Manning's voice took on a tone of mock confusion, "that roughly a week ago a group of my men were attacked while performing their sacred duty. One of them claimed to have seen a woman wearing a mask, much like this one, helping villagers escape the justice of the righteous."

"That would be strange," I allowed, without a blink, "I myself have not witnessed any righteous justice as of late. I am sure the Maker will rain his wrath down on the transgressors in a manner that is appropriate to any crime that has been committed."

Father cast me a look of warning before he interrupted, "But we digress from my purpose for summoning you here, Maerwynn."

"What is your will, Father?" I asked flatly, not bothering to hide my distaste.

"Too long have you dallied in the wilderness: you require the guidance of a strong hand," he chided, "so I have arranged for you to marry Ser Mannering. This will illustrate my goodwill toward his order and create an alliance that will strengthen this family."

I gazed at my father in horror, but he was in earnest. He intended to tie me to this horror in order to jockey for favor. It took me a moment before I sputtered in indignation, "Has Arl Boese been taken? I am sure you have informed Ser Manning that he was my previous betrothed and the steps I took to avoid that noose. You must be quite aware that I would sooner marry Boese than a complete stranger with nothing to recommend him other than his armor and a reputation for terrorizing villagers."

"Boese has arranged for a different match for himself," my father explained tersely, "and I assumed you would not marry him, regardless. As for you pleasure in this situation, it does not matter: you will marry this gentleman!"

"You may decree it, but it requires much to force an unwilling horse on a trek it refuses to take," I countered.

"Indeed," Ser Manning agreed, "but your father and I have found a sizable carrot for the horse that will make a stick unnecessary, I believe."

I crossed my arms, "There is no carrot big enough!"

"Perhaps you would prefer to examine the carrot before you judge?" the man approached me and took me by my right arm in a harsh grip. I could feel the bruises blossoming under his fingertips as he steered me to the door and led me from my father's study, with my father following close behind.

Momentarily I thought that perhaps they would return me to my mother's room or bring me to Murchad and demand my compliance by threatening harm to them. Those suppositions were abandoned when we reached the stairs leading down to the cellars. We had to be heading to the dungeons, but why?

As we entered the hallway of containment cells, I noticed a low wailing. A woman had been thrown in one of the cells at the end of the hallway, but I did not get an opportunity to view her closely for we brushed past and headed to an area that caused me to break into a sweat. We passed the cell that Rian and I had shared in the deeper keep and headed to the bellows where the fire crackled and irons glowed red amid the coals. A man was shackled to a far wall, sagging despite his arms being elevated by chains and his head down, his breeches were torn and he wore no tunic. A guard stood by and when we entered he stood straighter while the man in chains did not respond, unaware of our entrance.

This room still haunted my nightmares and the smoke from the fire made me want to retch, but Manning kept a tight hold of my arm and stopped us just beyond the doorway. My father walked past us and went further into the room, positioning himself within reach of the irons that were heating by the fire and putting on heavy leather gloves that were normally reserved for blacksmiths. He nodded to the guard who picked up a nearby bucket of water and splashed its contents over the prisoner.

The man suddenly jerked against his shackles, coughing and sputtering. He shook his head, as if trying to shake himself free of the water and it was obvious that he had been unconscious and the shock of the water had revived him. When he calmed down enough to look at us squarely my heart leapt into my throat in recognition.

It was Ser Sellose.

He looked haggard and I fought within myself to remain calm. If I betrayed that I knew him he might meet the same fate as Rian. They had brought me here for a purpose and it made me sick to consider what their designs were for him.

"Do you know this man?" Ser Manning demanded harshly, shaking me slightly by the arm.

I did not get a chance to answer because Ser Sellose piped up with a tone of bravado, "Who is this? Don't tell me I am to receive visits from perfect strangers." He still sagged slightly, but he tried to brace himself on the floor.

"So you have never met?" my father asked Sellose in a pointed tone.

"I am certain I would remember her," he replied, this time his voice held a tone that said more than my father or Ser Manning could probably glean unless they knew him. He was worried for me but was trying to remain neutral. His eyes made a cursory glance over me and remained unimpressed.

Ser Manning went on to explain to me, "We found this man wandering the woods with a woman not a far ride from here. He said he had become separated from his party. We suspect he was one of the men responsible for interfering with the Templar winnowing."

"Are there any witnesses that can identify him?" I asked, hoping that I might be able to convince them to free him if they could not be certain he was there.

"No," Ser Manning frowned, "but though he is not dressed in a knight's attire, he carried a sword that would not be owned by any peasant. Interestingly enough, that sword shares a similar insignia on the hilt as the sword belonging to the man who accompanied you here: a man who, it is reported, claimed to be a knight of Denerim, _a man who is now dead_!" The last words he hissed at me, his lips close to my ear and I cringed at his close proximity and the punishing grip as it further tightened on my arm.

Throwing pretense aside, Ser Sellose jerked against his chains in our direction. His face suddenly very grim and his eyes glittered menacingly. He grimaced as the chains bit into his wrists and held him back.

On witnessing his response my father goaded, "Are you certain you have never met her, Ser?"

"There is no honor in manhandling an unarmed woman," Sellose fumed, his muscles flexing against his bonds.

"Very well," my father proceeded, "Since neither of you are willing to claim each other, let us conduct a test." He picked up one of the hot irons from the fire in his gloved hands and carried it toward me, "I am sure you recall these, my dear. They are probably the source of some very unpleasant memories for you."

"Get away from her!" Sellose bellowed, straining even harder on the shackles that held him up.

"Oh, I have no intention of using them on her," my father gloated in a venomous tone, "I will use them on you. If you mean nothing to my daughter she will have no issue in seeing these used on your body."

"Father, _do not do this_!" I cried.

"Have you decided to accept Ser Manning's proposal of marriage?" He turned to me again, still holding the red iron in his hand as if it were any other harmless object.

Sellose shouted at me, his eyes pleading, "Don't do it!"

"There is one bid for the fire. This first brand I will place on his upper arm." My father approached Sellose and brought the brand close to his skin on his right arm.

Now it was my turn to struggle against my captor and screamed, "_Father DON'T!"_ but he did not heed me. Sellose gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out but could not help groaning with the intensity of the pain. The air filled with the sickening smell of burning flesh as Sellose's skin scorched under the brand that left red bubbling blisters when my father removed it.

"Is that your worst?" Sellose spat back between pants.

"Hardly," my father quipped before carelessly tossing the brand he had just used back into the fire and selecting another one. While the first had been a square and rather small, this one was larger and the metal was shaped to resemble a sword of mercy that the Chantry used in remembrance of Andraste's sacrifice on the pyre.

"This one was a gift from Ser Manning," my father explained to me as he noticed me staring at it, "and I believe this one should go over this man's heart. "

Before I could protest he turned and pressed the hot metal into Ser Sellose. Unprepared for the suddenness with which my father did it, Sellose screamed with pain, his cries allaying in intensity when the brand was removed. As my father had stated, the angry red mark was situated against Sellose's ribcage over where his heart should be, the flesh smoldering slightly.

My father discarded that brand back into the fire and turned back to me thoughtfully, "Any recommendations where we should proceed, Daughter?" He did not wait for a response before his words rushed forward, "Now that I look at your face I am inspired."

He picked up another brand and walked purposely forward, his arm leveling with Sellose's face. I felt the tears come and my voice was near hysterical as I shrieked at my father, all the while struggling against Ser Manning's punishing grip, "I yield! _I YIELD! Stay your hand and do not harm him!"_

Sellose swallowed hard as my father withdrew and approached me again, questioning, "What did you say, Daughter?"

Blinking back the stinging in my eyes, "If you swear not to hurt him further and release him, I will agree to marry Ser Manning."

"It is pleasant that you have finally come to see reason, my dear." My father smiled horridly and nodded to Ser Manning, "As I said before, she is witty enough to learn."

With that my father barked at the guard to unshackle Ser Sellose and take him to a cell. I was permitted to watch as he collapsed to his hands and knees once the chains that had held him upright were removed. Sweat dripped down his face and he looked weakened by the pain, but he managed to look up at me just as Ser Manning dragged me from the room and our eyes met. I sobbed to him since I could do nothing else, "_I am so sorry! Forgive me."_


	45. Chapter 30: The Sword of Mercy

**Chapter 30: The Sword of Mercy**

_Alistair / Ser Alan Sellose_

I had awoken in a cell, Letha kneeling beside me, stroking my hair, muttering softly. I rasped at her, my throat dry, trying to be comforting. On seeing that I was awake she scuttled over to a bucket at the front of the cell and brought me a dipper of water to wet my parched lips.

The water smelled brackish and it was unclear how long the bucket had been there, but I sipped it, grateful that I could still swallow. With a grunt I got myself into a sitting position and checked on Letha, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, "Are you alright, Letha? No one hurt you?"

She seemed more lucid and focused; she shook her head no and returned the dipper to the bucket. Once that had been done she took up a spot next to me on the pile of straw I had been sleeping on. The straw smelled stale and musty and caused me the insane desire to itch behind my ear, but it could not be helped. We were captive on the estate in Cloughbark. There was no way of knowing where Svenya would be, even if she were on the grounds. For all I knew, she might have collected her mother and brother and was on her way back to Herfirien.

I recalled what Bruna had said the previous morning, _"__Mae is a clever girl. She may find a way to rescue us before the week wanes."_

As much as I hated to admit it, being a king and all, I could really use a rescue in this situation. I prayed quietly, _"Maker, let that girl be safe. Also, if you could manage to arrange it, find a way to save us as well."_

"We are in Cloughbark," Letha observed suddenly, her voice had lost some of the trembling quality I had grown accustomed to and I turned to look at her.

"You know where we are."

She nodded again, "My Chantry was not far from here."

I was reluctant to force her to speak considering the state she had been in the other night, but I wanted to test how coherent she was and if she understood what was happening, "We were brought here by Templars."

"False Templars," she seemed to correct me, "but yes. We were brought here by Templars."

"Do you know who I am?" I asked gently.

She turned to look at me, furrowing her brow, "You are a friend. Your name escapes me. It seems like you have two names. You are two people, but you are only one. Do you know who you are? Have you forgotten?"

I opened my mouth to answer but closed it just as quickly when I considered what she had said. The look in her eyes was confusing, as if she was looking at me and looking beyond me at the same time. Since coming to the Cauldron I had become far more aware of the Fade and Letha seemed to be suffering some queer side effects from her lyrium poisoning. At times she behaved thoroughly addled and seemed to be a danger to herself. Other times she had seemed serene, like a trusting child or an old woman in her dotage.

It reminded me of the Templar Irminric, the brother of Bann Alfstanna. He had been trapped in Arl Howe's dungeon and was suffering lyrium withdrawal. He had been so childlike and only wanted us to send his sister to fetch him. There was no one to send for Letha, there was no real safety for her, perhaps that is why she panicked so easily.

Now she was neither addled nor doddering. She seemed to be thinking clearly, but something still seemed strangely out of joint.

"Last night you had run from the camp," I reminded her, hoping that perhaps she could give me some explanation for what happened. Bruna had said that because of the lyrium poisoning Letha was more attuned to things that normally others would remain unaware of, like the "torn air" that she had described for us, "When I caught up with you, you spoke of something coming through the tears. Could you have been speaking of the Templars?"

"No. They are not Templars. The Templars are similarly hungry, unsure of what they search for and desiring what they do not understand. Their hunger and ignorance leads them to poison the land, the people, with something that should not be touched by any but the Maker. The poison is spreading and it rends the Veil with its presence. The poison beckons things older, more dangerous, things hungrier than the Templars." Her voice was dispassionate, a definite contrast to the terror she had exhibited the previous night.

"You are no longer afraid of the hungry things?" I prompted.

"I fear them," she admitted, "but they do not seem to want me now. The poison is not as strong in me and is stronger elsewhere. Their humming has dimmed somewhat."

"Good to know!" I responded, "And the Templars?"

She stared at me a long moment before answering, "They are dangerous, but it is hard to fear something that is hunted by predators far greater."

"So the hungry things from beyond the Veil are hunting the Templars?"

"No," trying to qualify what she had already revealed, "it is searching for the hungry to sate it of its own need. The lyrium is the key."

"_The key to what?"_ This entire discussion was starting to feel like a repetition of some of my previous conversations with beings in the Fade. The fact that Letha was starting to speak like one of them was troubling to me and I could not help but ask, "You are still Letha, right?"

She smiled weakly, "Unfortunately. I have been wishing to be someone else. I am still me, but so much is broken in me. So much that I cannot recall. Even my memories from yesterday are frayed at the edges. The shape of your memory is a phantom to me, but it is there. You are familiar to me and that is comforting."

Suddenly she reached out and gripped my hand, her eyes started to lose their serene quality, the all too recognizable panic was returning. Her next words were choked, "Do not leave me. _Do not leave me!"_

I placed a reassuring arm around her and leaned my cheek on the top of her flossy blond head. She sobbed quietly for a few minutes before drifting to sleep and I was left to wonder why her peace seemed to ebb and flow like the tides.

* * *

Time passed but I could not measure it in the dim of the dungeon. Letha woke at some point and had returned to her usual timorous self. She muttered and sang her snatches of Chantry hymns, though not loudly. When I was certain of her stability, I stood up and tried to discern the layout of the dungeon by peering through the bars down every direction. We were at the end of a corridor of cells and to our left was a room. From the light smell of smoke I could discern there had to be a fire of some kind in the room closest to us, but under the smoky smell was an oily fragrance I could not place. It was similar to the smell of burnt meat.

None had come to see us, so I was unsure even of the direction of the exit. There was a sound of light dripping, which accounted for the musty damp smell. There must have been a water source nearby to the estate, perhaps a river. The stones felt chilly with the damp. It made me worry for Letha's health to be housed here because she was so physically frail to begin with and did not have her cloak.

Out of the stillness, the sound of armored greaves clattering in heavy steps against the stones reached my ears. It reminded me of something Svenya had said about our former armor,_ "… __those damn things made you jangle like Chantry bells…"_ I smiled in spite of my surroundings at the memory and it strengthened my resolve. There were other things stronger than armor.

At the end of the corridor was the crash of a door and the clatter of armor grew closer. The sound caused Letha to rock ever more slightly and she muttered in further agitation, but she remained fairly quiet. Peering down the corridor I saw the Knight Commander as he rounded the bend and heading for us.

On thinking of it, he looked like any other Templar in armor, except for one small difference. Instead of the herald of a Chantry Templar on the front of his armor, which was a halo burst of flames, there was symbol of a sword of mercy. I had never seen any other Templar use this symbol. It appeared occasionally in the form of small trinkets, but it was not a dominant symbol within the Chantry since it represented Andraste's execution. It had far more macabre implications than what most Fereldan or Orlesian Andrastians were comfortable with. From what I recalled it was a symbol more commonly used in Tevinter.

He was closely followed by another man in a rich brown velvet tunic and a non-descript guard. The man in the tunic carried himself with an elevated chin, all his features were angular and the eyes were a dark yellow, like you would see in a fox. The neatly clipped hair was thinning at his crown, and though mostly red in hue, it was generously a washed with silver strands. His face remained neutral but his eyes had a banked gleam to them, feeding on everything he looked at, weighing the worth of everything it gazed on.

Without a word the angular man removed a ring of keys from his belt and unlocked the cell. The Knight Commander yanked me from the cell by my collar and I offered no resistance or word.

Letha was startled and cried out in alarm as I was pulled into the next room. Though she said no discernable words, her sobbing was audible and I was powerless to comfort her as she scrambled to the bars and gripped them in white knuckled hands.

The Templar clapped me in irons dangling from the far wall of the room, rings caused them to fall from a socket near the ceiling and the height pulled my hands above my head. The guard stationed himself in a corner near to me, waiting patiently for orders. Near the doorway stood a large bellows like one would see in a blacksmith's forge, though the fire was low and the coals were gray. The Commander and the angular man stood before me a moment, weighing the situation carefully before proceeding.

"Who was the woman in the mask?" The Commander finally demanded, placing himself squarely before me, his nose inches from my own.

"I did not know her." I explained, with as good a shrug as I could manage, "I met her on the road. She was looking for a safe group to accompany and decided to aid us on our journey."

"Why did she attack my men?" he spat.

Remaining calm I replied, "She attacked no one that I recall, except for defending herself against wolves. She was hardly armed and quite a scrawny thing, really. That is why she travelled with us… we were two skilled knights and we were armed, though we lost our armor when the mercenaries attacked us and tried to hold us for ransom. We were better equipped with the dangers of the road than she. She ran particularly fast. That is all that could commend her. As I stated last night when you first found me, I was separated from her and my comrade. I have not seen them in days."

The angular faced man tapped the Commander lightly on the shoulder, gesturing for him to move back so that he could step forward and examine me. While he was not physically menacing and kept a larger distance between us, he made me feel more on my guard. There was a mill moving behind the eyes and it ground things to powder, I could tell.

"You fail to mention why a detail of knights would venture into the Cauldron in the first place." He observed this with a slight tone of interest.

"We were sent by the arl of Redcliffe on behalf of the king. In the thaw since the Blight ended, he had noticed that the darkspawn numbers were not allaying as quickly as predicted by the Grey Wardens. A new Warden stronghold is to be situated in Amaranthine and they are waiting for wardens to man it, but in the interim as they wait for the promised wardens from Orlais, they needed men to investigate possible darkspawn activity here in the Cauldron. They had not received word in quite some time regarding the state of affairs in these freeholds and there had been no representation from here during the previous Landsmeet. It seemed only natural that they would be concerned when receiving no word and wishing to know if aid was required." I rattled through all of this from what I could pull from my own mind. It was vaguely true and offered a plethora of insignificant information giving it credence.

"Wardens from Orlais?" the angular man cocked a curious brow.

"Yes," I replied, "you may not be aware, but the Ferelden based Wardens were wiped out at Ostagar. The king has set forward a mandate to replenish the order here and remain vigilant in the event of darkspawn activity. The closest reinforcements are based in Orlais."

The Commander looked troubled at the mention of Orlesian Wardens, but the other man seemed to take no interest in it and answered, "I had heard reports of what transpired at Ostagar and of the subsequent death of King Cailan. I was also informed of the new king's coronation after we received word that the Blight had been ended. We are slightly isolated, but not completely in the dark."

"He is lying," the Commander growled.

"No, he has been fairly truthful," the angular man paced away slightly with a careless wave in the man's direction, "one can tell with the eyes. He has not lied openly yet. Some of it is information that I had gleaned from other sources so it can be corroborated."

"It still does not explain why my men were attacked!"

"It may have been random," the other man allowed, "it may have been the result of seeing civilians being gathered and being unaware of the purpose. He is not as enlightened as you are, Ser."

I bit my tongue to prevent myself from responding rashly. Lashing out would not help Svenya or Rian. My best chances lay in them concluding that I was harmless and returning me to Redcliffe.

When the Commander did not respond, the man turned back to me, pulling an item from a pouch concealed in his tunic and held it before my eyes. I tried to make myself numb to hide the recognition that would betray something in my eyes before I cast a glance to it. On seeing it clearly I knew it instantly: it was Svenya's mask.

The man inquired, watching me carefully for any response, "Is this familiar to you?"

"Should it be?" I spurted.

"This was worn by a woman that we currently have in custody," the man explained in an enigmatic tone, dangling the dark green mask from a thong pinched between his thumb and index finger.

"Our guide's mask was brown," I explained, "and sloped further on one side than the other with more elaborate embroidery. This mask is unfamiliar to me."

"Ah, so we have a different woman in custody who coincidently adorns a mask and was accompanied by a red haired man claiming to be a knight."

My heart sank slightly, though I tried not to show it. They knew of Svenya and Rian, but there was no surety that this was anything other than a way to bait me. Perhaps they had been seen and she had lost her mask but they were not truly in custody. Unless I knew for certain it seemed better to hold my peace and play ignorant.

The Commander brought forward a sheathed sword that he had been carrying in the girdle by his side, so I had not marked it. He impatiently held it before my eyes, grabbing my hair at the top of my head close to the scalp in order to force me to look at it. The hilt was similar to my own sword since it carried the insignia of Denerim on the pommel, but it also bore the initials H.F. in script near where the grip and guard met. It could be none other than Rian's sword and it had the tarnishing of blood near the grip as well, implying it had been used but not cleaned. I swallowed involuntarily as I examined it and realized the implications as the Commander ground out harshly, "This was recovered from the knight who accompanied the woman."

The sword implied that Rian was unarmed, and good knights never allowed themselves to go unarmed. It meant one of three things: Rian was in custody, Rian had abandoned his sword out of necessity or Rian was dead. None of the possibilities were particularly comforting. I held my silence, since the men did not seem to need me to speak. They asked no questions, they were merely trying to read my responses to divine the truth.

The Commander released by head roughly with a snarl and nodded to the guard. The guard stepped forward and unsheathed a small dagger. Without a word he used it to make a small cut at the collar of my tunic before resheathing it and using the cut to make a clean tear down the front with his hands. The guard proceeded to rip off the tunic, leaving my torso bear and causing me to comment sarcastically, "_Blast, that was a new tunic! _If you wanted it so badly I could have just handed it to you."

The angular man smirked in the face of my words and declared, "You have lied. According to the Chant, lying is a sin. Since Ser Manning here is a Templar, it is within his jurisdiction to punish you on behalf of the Maker for your falsehood. Ser Manning, he is yours, but do not mar him. I have a plan for him."

"Yes, Arl Crewe!" assented the sullen Ser Manning, smiling for the first time since I had initially encountered him. He stepped forward, removing his gauntlet, stating, "This is for my men!" With that he made a solid blow to my gut, forcing the air from my lungs and it was a few long moments thin gasping before I could finally take a steady breath again. Once I was breathing normally, Ser Manning took that opportunity to make another gut blow and kicked into my shin; if not for the thick leather of my boots the greave would have torn my leg or perhaps fractured the bone. The sudden disruption to my footing would have caused me to collapse, but for the shackles that held me upright. I lurched to the side and felt a sickening pop in my right shoulder, nearly dislocating it with the pressure of my weight pulling down on my arms. A third blow to my gut and a sudden backhand across my temple and rendered me into a state of merciful blackness, unaware of what transpired beyond that point.

* * *

_I dreamt of a memory. It was of the days during the Blight before I was king, when I was merely a Grey Warden, a former Templar and a willing companion to Nerine Tabris. We had been wandering the Brecilian Forest searching for signs of the Dalish after having dealt with the tragedy that had befallen Redcliffe and retrieving the Ashes of Andraste to restore Arl Eamon. There had been so much death; I was relieved to be someplace surrounded by things green and growing._

_I had been partnered with Leliana and charged to search out some game to serve as our meal in camp that evening. Normally I had easy silences with Leliana as we travelled, but something gnawed at me that evening, causing me to ask her suddenly, "_So what do you think will happen to all those people we left behind in Lothering?"

"Some will make their way to Denerim. Many of them will die, as the Maker wills," _she had answered in her usual heavy Orlesian accent, the tone slightly sad but resigned._

"Don't you wish you could have stayed there; to help more people I mean," _I pressed, not comfortable with the simplicity of her answer._

_She went on to sermonize how what we were doing was equally if not more important. If we did not defeat the darkspawn and archdemon far more people would die than the unfortunate souls we had abandoned to the threatening darkspawn horde in Lothering. It was merely a matter of weighing the greater good when making a decision._

"So it's alright to let some people die for the greater good. I'm not so sure about that," _I had responded when she finished,_ "I felt bad leaving all those people there, all panicked and helpless."

_Her eyes were almost pitying as she paused to look me in the eye and tried to reassure me,_ "You're doing what you must Alistair. There will be worse to come yet. You will need to steel yourself, you know this."

"I've never been really good at that: the steeling myself part," _I admitted with a mournful shrug,_ "I find it better sometimes to just be a little weak. I'm alright with that, really."

"I don't believe you and either way it's not as if any of us has a choice." _She had insisted before turning from me to refocus on our task, taking aim with her bow at a stag wandering through the forest, not far in the distance. The animal had turned to stare at us just as she took the shot, catching it in the throat, killing it quickly. _

_Though I loved Leliana like a sister, it always disturbed me her easy acceptance of the arbitrariness of life and death. She accepted fate from the Maker with a ready palm and meting out death in sudden silence. Even her mercy seemed brutal to me._

_The memory seemed to play forward, Leliana laughing to me about something as she stripped the carcass as I watched, but suddenly I was not able to hear her. The scene had gone silent when suddenly from behind me I heard my own voice question, _"Do you still feel as you did?"

_The doppelganger wore my royal ceremonial armor that had been fashioned to resemble Cailan's armor, though I had insisted that it not be gold. The royal armor had a dull grey sheen and I had the crest of Ferelden altered so that instead of two lionesses emblazoned on the front, it was a lioness and a griffin, to commemorate my devotion to the Grey Warden order. It was in stark contrast to the old Templar suit of armor my dream self was donned in, which was the armor I worn at the time of the memory. It felt disconcerting to be wearing the old armor and see my reflection in the newer armor. Neither armor seemed to truly fit me, a farce of what I was now. I was no longer who I was and I fell far short of who I intended to be._

"Yes,"_ I admitted defiantly to my double, _"I do not believe it is right to allow some people to die for the greater good if it is in one's power to save them! Who am I to decide what the greater good is?"

"You are a king,"_ offered the doppelganger._

"Mayhap," _I spat, _"but I am not the Maker. I do not presume to wield the Maker's divine authority. I am a man. I know not what the future holds. All I am able to do is act in the here and now."

_The doppelganger nodded, seemingly pleased, _"Remember that…"

* * *

Suddenly I was choking on water, shuddering with the suddenness of a dousing. Coming to myself I realized that I was still chained in the room near my cell. I could vaguely hear Letha still sobbing, though it seemed softer. I lifted my head to see the guard holding a bucket, which I assumed was the source of the water and realizing that someone had stoked the fire since the room was smokier.

I looked to the doorway and beheld two people by the red glow from the fire at the bellows: one was the Knight Commander, Ser Manning, and the other was a woman in a rich crimson gown. Her eyes met mine, widening, and I had a moment to take in the scars on the right side of her face close to her eye and down her cheek in serpentine tendrils. It was Svenya and she was at the mercy of these men.

Ser Manning questioned Svenya none too gently, "Do you know this man?"

"Who is this?" I piped up tartly, trying to cover my concern at seeing her, "Don't tell me I am to receive visits from perfect strangers." I tried steady myself by shuffling my footing slightly, keeping them all squarely in my sight.

"So you have never met?" was the pointed question from the man I assumed was Arl Crewe based on how Ser Manning had addressed him earlier. He had put on heavy blacksmithing gloves which boded ill.

I tried to chuckle through my suddenly dry lips, "I am certain I would remember her."

"We found this man wandering the woods with a woman not a far ride from here." Ser Manning was speaking to Svenya; punctuating his words every so often with a sturdy shake of her arm where he forcibly gripped it, "He said he had become separated from his party. We suspect he was one of the men responsible for interfering with the Templar winnowing."

"Are there any witnesses that can identify him?" she responded, trying not to look at me directly in an attempt to hide the fact that she knew me.

"No, but though he is not dressed in a knight's attire, he carried a sword that would not be owned by any peasant. Interestingly enough, that sword shares a similar insignia on the hilt as the sword belonging to the man who accompanied you here: a man who, it is reported, claimed to be a knight of Denerim," Ser Manning snarled close to her cheek before confirming my worst fears with a hiss, "_a man who is now dead_!"

I jerked forward with that, enraged at his harsh treatment of Svenya, wanting to rip his offending arms from his body with my bare hands. I only vaguely registered the pain of my wrists as the shackles bit into my wrists with a sluggish trickle of blood welling in the wounds, so acute was my anger, and I heard Arl Crewe chortle, "Are you certain you have never met her, Ser?"

"There is no honor in manhandling an unarmed woman," I ground out, taking deep breaths to calm myself since I could not fly at the Commander without taking the wall with me.

"Very well, since neither of you are willing to claim each other, let us conduct a test," the Arl explained, removing a glowing iron from the fire before approaching Svenya, "I am sure you recall these, my dear. They are probably the source of some very unpleasant memories for you."

The implications were all too obvious. I had suspected that Arl Crewe was responsible for scarring his daughter, causing her to hide her visage behind a mask. Now I watched helplessly as she cringed slightly while he advanced on her, a hot brand in his hand. I roared, "Get away from her!"

"Oh, I have no intention of using them on her. I will use them on you. If you mean nothing to my daughter she will have no issue in seeing these used on your body." He threatened, turning back to me with a smile on his lips.

"Father, _do not do this_," Svenya pleaded, going paler and I realized that this was the first time I could recall ever seeing her desperately frightened. Even in the village with the threat of the Templars there had been concern tinged with a grim resignation, but now she was genuinely terrified and that bastard knew it.

"Have you decided to accept Ser Manning's proposal of marriage?" Arl Crewe inquired chillingly and I realized what game he was playing. He was using me as leverage against her.

"Don't do it!" I demanded, refusing to allow him to terrorize her, straining against the shackles again to no avail.

The man seemed secretly delighted by my response as he quipped, "There is one bid for the fire. This first brand I will place on his upper arm."

I had a moment of seeing the brand advance to steel myself for the inevitable pain that would follow. Above the maddening sizzle of my own flesh under the brand I barely registered Svenya screaming at the Arl, "_Father DON'T!"_ My vision became bleary has I gritted my teeth, willing myself to remain conscious and not be overwhelmed. Suddenly the sizzling stopped but the burning remained as the Arl withdrew the brand, casting it into the coals to reheat.

Mustering some courage, trying to reassure Svenya that it was not unbearable, I mocked the Arl, "Is that your worst?"

"Hardly," was the short reply as he extracted an even larger brand from the fire, casting a glance with a casual, almost conspiratorial explanation to Svenya, "This one was a gift from Ser Manning, and I believe this one should go over this man's heart."

I had been mildly distracted by the castoff comment he had made and was not anticipating him to turn so suddenly, placing the brand on my chest, catching me mid-breath. I let out a strangled scream, howling before Arl Crewe removed the iron. The smell of my own flesh cooking beneath the brand was sickening. As the smoke wafted to my nostrils, I absently considered the outline now permanently imbued on my breast. It was the angry red silhouette of a sword of mercy, similar to the one decorating the front of Ser Manning's armor.

Past the throbbing in my ears, I could just barely discern Arl Crewe say, "Any recommendations where we should proceed, Daughter? ... Now that I look at your face I am inspired." My face jerked up, realizing what the words had meant. The arl leveled his arm holding another glowing red iron, this one coming close to my face. I involuntarily cringed but could not look away as the blistering heat emanated towards my right cheek, the red glow nearly blinding me.

"I yield! _I YIELD! Stay your hand and do not harm him!"_ Came an impassioned scream, the voice nearly unrecognizable in its hoarse volume and the iron withdrew without touching me.

I swallowed deep breaths of air as the arl turned from me and approached Svenya, "What did you say, Daughter?"

"If you swear not to hurt him further and release him, I will agree to marry Ser Manning." She confirmed brokenly, tears streaming down her face, her eyes fully on her father.

"It is pleasant that you have finally come to see reason, my dear." The arl nodded cheerily to Ser Manning as if Svenya had shared a good joke rather than surrendering her life to the monster that gripped her by the arm, "As I said before, she is witty enough to learn."

"Guard," the Arl ordered over his shoulder as he exited the chamber, "unchain the prisoner and return him to his cell. I will no longer require him today."

I felt boneless as the chains were unlocked and I collapsed to the floor, just barely managing to catch myself with my arms, the muscles burning much like the brands that throbbed against my skin. I gulped air and forced myself to look up, seeing Svenya dragged from the room against her will in Ser Manning's wake.

"_I am so sorry! Forgive me."_ She rasped out to me, her eyes pleading for some kind of absolution before Ser Manning jerked her to face forward.

As I woodenly watched her forced retreat, the view of her red gown as it swept down the corridor away from me and feeling the subsequent twinge of our widening gap, all I could think to myself was, _"There is nothing to forgive. I am the one who failed to protect you."_

The guard grasped me under the arms, his hand lightly brushing against the brand on my chest as he lifted me from the floor, causing me to suck in the air in a groan. He unceremoniously guided me to the cell, opened the door and pushed me in. Letha came forward, careful not to touch my wounds, and assisted me to the straw on the floor. She muttered to herself as she tore the sleeve from her own tunic and doused it in the water bucket.

As she tenderly placed the drenched fabric against the raw, oozing skin over my heart, I found myself praying softly as I had not done since I was a young boy at Redcliffe, _"Maker, bestow your mercy on me, a sinner. Do not abandon me here. Give me the strength necessary to restore what other men have sundered. If not, liberate those suffering at the hands of the unholy who pretend to do your will." _

I could feel myself gripped by exhaustion as I drifted to sleep, just barely hearing Letha whisper, _"So let it be!"_

* * *

_**Author's note: The discussion between Leliana and Alistair is taken directly from party banter in the game, __. I adapted the setting of the conversation.**_


	46. Interlude 15: Calling of William Ward

_**Interlude 15: The Calling of William Ward**_

_A Legend of the Chantry_

_The Templars: Maurice Herenden, Aubrey Chowring, Herlewin Payne, Savaric Kynton and Giles Nash, called to bind six rogue spirits by the Divine Hortensia III had lost their brother, Shamas Goodson, to the wiles of the fifth spirit, turning him into a Revenant. In the ensuing battle, both Savaric and Herlewin were injured. Savaric travelled with his brethren on a litter being dragged behind a horse, girdled with bandages to staunch his bleeding. Herlewin had dislocated his hip and would limp for the rest of his days. Even in the face of injury and hardship, this brotherhood of Templars had to continue on their quest to locate and seal away one final spirit that had escaped from the Veil into the living world._

_ Along with the vials of the sealed spirits, the Templars carried with them the shield of their fallen brother, bearing the crest of his ancestors. It became a symbol of their grief and as a reminder never to be swayed, never to give in to weakness in the face of their great destiny. _

_However, Savaric was facing the twilight of life, cursed with wounds that seeped and never completely healed. He had been the party's guide, a recipient of visions bestowed by the Holy Bride, guiding them to the spirits each in turn in order to protect the faithful from their corrupting influence. Unable to stir from his litter, he moaned in pain, praying for clarity to help his brothers and end the torment wrought by the final spirit that eluded them._

_After weeks of wandering the Planasene Forest and the brethren headed for Cumberland, Savaric finally had a vision. He saw a golden wyvern stalking the shores of a rocky beach, gray waves crashing against the shore and a deep forest stretching beyond. The sky was gray to match the water as it roiled and the air caused the wyverns breath to float in ghostly tendrils into the wind. Savaric on waking shares this vision and insists that they find a way to locate this place._

_The five leave via a ship from Cumberland and follow the Coastland, heading to the west, reaching the cape of the land and continuing to follow it south for many weeks. Finally, on the morning of a dark day, Maurice heard the puffing of a great beast. Looking to the shore he spied a serpentine wyvern, walking along the rocky shore just as the beams of morning caressed the beasts hide, making it a beacon for the wandering band. They put ashore to find the beach deserted once more and no other clues of how to proceed._

_That night, Maurice dreams of first a house of cedar wood surrounded by fir trees and then he sees a door of stone flanked by large statuesque sentries at the foot of a mountain. At the entrance of the stone doorway stands a tall man with silver hair. He sees them gesturing welcome and offering succor before he awakens the following morning. He speaks of his vision to the others and they decide to move inland from the beach to discover where these landmarks exist._

_Travelling north, dragging Savaric's litter behind them, the Templars encounter rough terrain, but continue on. After two nights, they come to a village and are brought before the chieftain. The chieftain offers them lodgings in his own wooden hut and asks to hear their tale. It is related to him and Maurice describes his vision, and the chieftain nods._

_The chieftain knew of the house and doorway that they seek. A day's journey to the east, near the shore there is the entrance of what was once the dwarven city of Gwaren. At its entrance is the house of Anton Wither, the elder of the village that housed both humans and dwarves that had forsaken the earth in fear of the darkspawn that have taken over their homeland. The chieftain promised to have the men guided to Gwaren. _

_The following morning the chieftain sends a man to guide the Templars to their destination, following the coastline. By evening of that day they arrived at the wooden house that Maurice had seen. The fishing village at the edge of the Frozen Sea was small, but they are warmly welcomed. Anton Wither's wife eagerly saw to the needs of the guests, she made healing poultices for Savaric, giving him new strength and enabling him to amble about, but he was still weak and his wounds still seeped. However, Anton looked at the Templars askance, weighing them carefully in his own mind, as if considering something but the Templars did not notice. The Templars related their tale to Anton and he offered them hospitality in return, promising to see if there is anything the village could offer to help them on their quest and to seek out any possible sources of corruption that might be a sign of the rogue spirit._

_The Templars were well cared for and that night, Giles had a dream. He saw a small boy in tattered rags and skinned knees on the shores of the beach, under a weeping sky amid the ruins of a boat. The boy reached out to him and Giles sensed that the boy was touched by the Maker and had a role to play in their quest. He shared his dream with his brethren the following morning, all puzzled by what the dream portended and wondered about the boy._

_That day a storm blew up from the Frozen Sea. The wind wailed and shook the walls of the village houses. Everyone stayed indoors, but Aubrey Chowring could find no peace near the fire. He went out in the rain and turned his eyes to the sea, watching it in all its swelled fury. It reminded him of the hardships he had faced with his brethren and prayed that they might find what they sought._

_Amid the thrashing waves, not far off shore, he thought he spied a boat and ran to the shoreline. The hulking skeleton of a fishing boat was being pushed onto the shore, forced into the rocks. As the waves drove it forward, Aubrey met it at the edge of the beach, the place between land and sea. Once the hull of the ship hushed against the gravel, a small figure crawled out of the wreck, falling to the rocks as he did so, scraping his knees. The Templar spied the small boy, no more than six winters old, weeping, calling for parents who were no longer of that world._

_The Templar was moved with pity and picked the boy up in his arms, soothing the lad before bringing him to his brethren. The boy, once he is able to speak, stated that his name is William Ward. The men are filled with wonder at the young orphan and realized that he had been called from the sea to serve the Maker. Each of them swear to protect the boy and help to raise him in fear of the Maker and in reverence of the Holy Bride. _

_The following day, Anton shared with the Templars that he had not been made aware of any spirits or evil haunting the land surrounding the village. All had been peaceful, except that the village had been plagued by the golden wyvern that had stalked the beaches and frightened the fish, causing the yield of the sea to be sparse, forcing the fishermen to have to go farther and farther out into dangerous waters._

_The Templars reluctantly conferred amongst themselves. Their mission was clear, they were to focus on finding the final spirit that escaped through the Veil, but the holy bride had led them to this place. They reasoned that perhaps the final spirit was inexplicably tied to the wyvern and resolved that they would help the village to rid themselves of the beast._

_Long before the dawn's light, the Templars raised a group of twelve men from the village, among them was Anton Wither, and the Templars brought Will to serve as page for the ailing Savaric, carrying the injured man's shield. They followed the shore until they reached the nest of the wyvern, surrounded by jutting rocks and broken purple mollusk shells. Stealing closer to the creature, the Templars signaled the villagers to help them flank the creature as they drew it out of its lair. Stationing themselves at the mouth of the outcropping, the Templars raised a mighty din, causing the wyvern to lash out in confusion, slithering forth and breathing fire. The men raised shields in response and parried the creatures blows, all fought valiantly, but when they called for the aid of the village men, they did not come forth. The golden creature coiled and wrapped around the rocks, protecting its nest._

_After a battle that seemed near impossible due to the size of the beast, the Templars slayed the wyvern. Giles, Maurice and Aubrey were wounded and bled upon the rocky beach, kneeling and praying for succor from the Maker. Finally Anton Wither came forward from behind a large rock that he had been concealed behind. The man smiled sympathetically toward the Templars and informed the wounded brethren, "Seeing the size of the beast and believing the battle hopeless, the men of Gwaren ran. They could not keep faith with you. Mortal men are fragile beings in the face of such a brutal beast. Mere men were never made for such hardship. Look at yourselves; you bleed in place of the men who are lesser than you. You are left at the brink of death. See where your devotion has brought you?"_

_The men were gravely distressed, pained by the man's words. They could not see beyond their own doubt and sorrow._

_Then the boy, William Ward, stepped forward, and in a clear voice that belied his years, "Speak no more demon! You preyed on the villagers fears, assuming that the wyvern would destroy the men sent by the Maker to imprison you. You have hidden here so long that none even suspected, eclipsing the soul of the man, Anton Wither. No more shall you roam free."_

_As the lad spoke, the light of dawn set the beach awash with a holy glow, causing the specter to cower, revealing its true shape. The Templars took their arms up and vanquished the final rogue spirit. They bound the demon to a black vial with a solemnly intoned prayer and a scrap of paper, sealed with their life blood and William Ward was among them, having taken upon himself the mantle of the fallen Shamas Goodson in the face of battle._

_After their task was completed, the wounds of the men were too great to withstand and they succumbed to death. William ran back to the village to call for aid from the frightened men that had abandoned them, and they came forward but they were too late. The only one not mortally wounded was Herlewin and he would allow none of the faithless to touch the hallowed dead. As he stood over his fallen brethren, he spoke these words to the men of Gwaren, "You have shamed your fathers and your sons. This village will ever after be robbed of peace, so easily do you run. You will betray those who rely on you for aid because you embrace being afraid. Faithless fools and fallen friends, one of your number will be unable to defend the golden king from the demons that you fear. Eternal shame lies on all who were not here!"_

_Rather than allow the villagers' craven fingers to sully the valorous dead with their traitorous hands, Herlewin burned the remains of his brethren as the men of Gwaren watched; the pyres casting flames into the night sky like enlightened hymns to the Maker. Then, the Templar Herlewin Payne, guardian of the black vials, took the boy, William Ward, in hand. They left behind the men who had abandoned them and wandered the wilderness._

_It was revealed to both Herlewin and William in a dream from the Holy Bride that the black vials could never be destroyed. Rather than return to Val Royeaux where the vials might taint the Divine and cause further devastation, the pair remained in the wilds, discerning safe resting places where the vials could not be disturbed and would remain distant from one another, lessening the chance of them being freed. _

_Once they had discharged their duty to the Maker, they did not return to the Divine, so overwrought with punishing the transgressions of the Tevinters that she had quite forgotten the men she had sent out to save Thedas from rogue spirits. The limping Templar and the young boy explored what would later be Ferelden, giving aid to the needy and praising the Maker until the end of their days. _

_Where their bodies finally rested, no one knows, but it is believed that the light of the Maker shines softly there. _


	47. Chapter 31: A Mouse Among Foxes

**Chapter 31: A Mouse Among Foxes**

_Murchad Crewe_

My father lost no time in announcing Mae's impending nuptials to _"the honorable"_ Ser Helyas Manning. Since the Chantry had been dissolved the banns could not be posted as they had been traditionally. Instead, I was sent to the public square of Cloughbark to stand before the few people who dared leave their home when it was whispered that a retinue from my father's house came through the streets.

The village looked stark and empty as I stood near what used to be the Chanter's board. My mouth felt full of sawdust as I intoned solemnly, "I, Murchad of the house of Crewe, make this first proclamation of the intention of the esteemed Templar Knight Commander, Ser Helyas Manning, to wed the widowed Lady Maerwynn Crewe before the birth of the Firstfall moon. This is announced with the full consent of Arl Donngal Crewe. If any know of an impediment to this marriage, speak your peace in the sight of the Maker."

Men and women had cracked the doors of their homes in order to hearken to the news. It was hypocritical to make such an announcement to them when they would no doubt maintain silence for fear of retribution. My father's guards held the hafts of their swords, ready for any response. Even had I spoken, I might have been cut down.

My sister had been coerced into this marriage to ransom her friend in the dungeon. She was in misery and none of us could intervene without consequences. Feelings of overwhelming wretchedness crowded my chest when I considered it and found it hard to breathe.

For my entire life I had been threatened by my own father to meet his exacting expectations but being the youngest son and without power had afforded me a certain amount of freedom. Most times I could find ways to avoid what I considered truly reprehensible through careful consideration. I was not as cunning as Ronan, but I knew how to disguise my guile with timidity if it became necessary. Neither my father nor my brothers suspected me, believing me to be weak and of little consequence. When they were unaware, I could travel into the village and help the people within. Amid my father's various trips to Swidden, Fendril's slavish attention to training the guards and Ronan's various machinations to consolidate power in order to move against Fendril, they had let much of the running of Cloughbark unobserved, particularly the needs of the peasantry that worked the fields that fed us. For the last two years I would often travel into the surrounding villages to find out what the people needed. At times I even went so far as to work in the fields to ensure our harvests.

This past season had been disastrous. My father had become more paranoid of any moves of disobedience. When my mother was confined to her quarters he then turned his attention more fully on me and I could not assist the people without his notice. Aside from a rise in wild animal attacks, some of the animals that worked the fields, such as horses and oxen, became more unpredictable, becoming ill or temperamental. Horses would suddenly become crazed, throwing off their plows or dragging them over furrows that had already been made. Handlers would be injured and unable to continue working until they healed. All this occurred and, added to the sudden drop in our population due to Templar winnowings; we had not nearly enough of a workforce to harvest all of the crops necessary to sustain us for the coming winter.

In an act of desperation, I tried to mention this to my father, hoping he might be moved to provide some kind of aid or encourage the Templars to desist in their movements that threatened the very workers who provided the means for our survival. He responded with little concern, stating that we would be provided for during the winter months and there would be more than enough for the staff of the manner. He assumed that the plight of the people in the surrounding villages were not his problem. They were fodder for his ambition, but what was he working on, how could the arling survive without food and people? It gravely troubled me how dismissive he was of the loss of such necessities. It did not surprise me that he cared less for their personal plights than I did.

Before my father's grip had tightened on me and the Chantry had been dissolved, I had secretly encouraged the Reverend Mother to advise some of the edge villages to evacuate to Herfirien during the summer months and damn the crops. I knew that my uncle would care for those people, though it might cause more of a burden on his own stores, but he would find a way. I could neither openly contact him for fear of my father's wrath, nor advise the people myself without overstepping the bounds of my role as the youngest son. It troubled me to consider that perhaps he had lashed out against our Chantry because of possible stirrings toward moving people out of harm's way and without his express consent, though he gave no hint that he suspected my intervention.

For a time my father toyed with the idea of presenting me to Ser Manning's Templar order for training, assuming that would curry favor and remove me as a point of contention for the seat of arl on his death. Now that Mae was marrying Ser Manning, it probably did not feel as necessary to him. With Fendril's death I was now suddenly the spare, provided Ronan saw me as no threat and refrained from plotting against me. Both my father and brother watched me like hawks.

It had been conveyed to me by my mother that my father had used my good intentions to trap my sister. He had also made it near impossible for me to speak with her alone. On Ronan's orders, more guards prowled the hall. It was as if we were at war and expecting an invasion. In the past months there had been a rise in correspondence from Arl Boese to my father, often being carried by rough men that I assumed to be mercenaries, as if the Templars were not worrying enough.

I began to suspect that my father and Arl Boese were arranging secret raids just beyond the Orlesian border and were bringing a force together in order to carry it out. It seemed a plausible explanation for my father's sudden disinterest in the farming of the land, for why would he need to produce supplies if he could steal them. Conversely, such acts could bring open war and without support from our king, if the empress got wind of such activities, she could send her own forces against us. The rest of Ferelden was still recovering from the recent Blight and our country's weakened state might give Orlais just the excuse needed to invade. Such actions would be reckless, which would go against my father's very nature. He was careful, even as he was cruel.

Looking out at the village, with the weathered hovels that people had obviously been patching with green wood to weather the fast approaching winter, I felt a twinge of guilt. How could I leave these people to the mercy of my father? Even if I did try to intercede, would not my actions only invite my father to heap more abuse upon them, just as he did when my sister would take their part?

Of all of his children, my sister was the valiant one and far more charismatic than any of us. Had she been born a man, she could have ruled the whole of Ferelden before she turned eighteen. Men and women listened to her, taking what she said to heart. The compassion that she readily displayed made people love her, even more than they feared my father at times for she was a match for his temper.

I did not inspire such confidence; my father had beaten such feelings from the people that they feared him above all else and at times suspected me of being his agent. Perhaps that is why my father had always preyed upon Mae, allowing her no room to prosper. She would have been able to overthrow him had he allowed it, and he would _never_ allow that. He did not fear me for I had not the command of such faculties; therefore I had been able to move freely for as long as I did.

I was no hero, no knight; I was a mouse while my brothers were foxes prowling for the weak. The best I could do was hide and creep out as opportunity allowed and the people did not trust me, though they would occasionally allow me to assist in small acts of kindness. It had been too long since I had ventured among my people and any good I had done previously had been eclipsed by the current actions of my father. I could not blame the servants who had revealed my ruse when I had stolen from the estate to inform Bruna of Mother's condition. My goodwill was outweighed by the potential of my father's ire.

After the announcement had been met with predictable silence, I returned to the estate flanked by guards. They were grim and did not bother to address me, they were only under orders to monitor the announcement and ensure that I would return without speaking to anyone. Either father overestimated my standing with the people or he had become paranoid enough that he would hazard no potential waywardness on my part since I had already attempted to supersede his authority when I had gone to Bruna.

While entering the grounds, the portcullis crashed closed behind our detail and one of the guard's horses spooked. The man was thrown and struck his head on the cobbles. Three grooms ran forward, trying to calm the beast, but it wildly continued to rear and kick for many moments. Another guard bravely dragged the luckless rider away from where the horse could have trampled him, but he need not have bothered. The man had been killed by the blow to his skull. The beast had to be destroyed by a sharp knife to its jugular vein since it had killed its rider and we could not suffer a violent animal to live because of the potential for continued violence. Blood flowed everywhere until we waded in it and it had to be rinsed away with many buckets of water.

"That is the third animal to become violent this week," I overheard one of the grooms whisper ominously to the other as they carefully disposed of both bodies from the courtyard; "Miles broke his arm and was nearly kicked in the head. This bodes ill! I have never seen so many animals behave this way. Bodicea is usually gentle and she bit my shoulder this morning."

"It is not just here. My brother lives in Hollowglen and they have had a wolf attack their goats. It killed five before his son managed to get an arrow through its gizzard." The man confided this in a tenor of dread.

The other man responded with disbelief, "Five? Wolves might kill one goat and drag it away if it were hungry. That is reasonable to expect, but not five, not by one lone wolf. It must have been sick."

The groom nodded sagely, "There is evil abroad in the Cauldron, make no mistake. May the Maker have mercy on us!"

"So let it be," I whispered in grim agreement as I made my way into the manor house.

As I made it a point to peer into my father's study. He had lost no time arranging for the Orlesian artist, Master Beaumont, to begin work on a betrothal portrait. The man was jittery, since he had come here almost a year and a half previously, doing various works to honor my father, his patron. He had learned how fickle my father's temper could be and realized that he could be ruthless on observing his darker moods and his cruelty to the other servants. The man tried to appease him always, pushing himself to complete each masterpiece as quickly as possible.

The smell of egg yolk wafted to my nostrils as the man nervously mixed his paint with a brisk motion of his wrist, combining the yolk with whatever pigment was necessary to achieve the desired color. The tempera paints dried quickly, meaning he could complete his works with the least amount time for the paint to dry. Once the man had been a skilled oil painter, but had discovered that it did not dry fast enough to meet my father's approval.

The panel had been prepped with a base coat of white paint and he had used charcoal to create an outline of his subjects on the other side of the room. Mae sat in a small chair by the fireplace, while her betrothed stood gravely by her right side, towering above her in his armor sans helmet. They were both angled so that they were looking to their right, making their left profiles prominent and it made Mae's scars difficult to be seen in the portrait. Her right hand was elevated slightly, resting gently on Manning's armored forearm. A thick, silken azure ribbon was tied around her wrist on one end and was tied around his gauntlet on the other end.

The Templar had not given her a ring, as was traditional, but instead had bestowed a pendant depicting a gold sword of mercy with a small sparkling chip of ruby at its hilt. It displayed prominently against her breast, done purposely to be seen in the painting. She had insisting a black velvet gown, more suited for a woman in mourning than a woman newly betrothed. When father had tried to bully her to choose another gown she had staunchly refused, stating that no other color aptly captured her humor.

This choice of apparel did not vex the stern Templar. He insisted, "It is far more fitting for a Templar's bride to dress somberly. It represents an air of meek decorum, capturing the seriousness of the life we have been called by the Maker to lead. Also, with the recent death of her eldest brother, any gown too colorful would be inappropriate."

The pair sat silently, the ebony skirt of her dress splayed around their feet in rich folds, draped carefully so as not to be too close to the grate as it crackled, casting vague shadows across my sister's countenance. Those shadows did not compare to the ones in her eyes or the pale circles beneath them, for she had not slept peacefully since the deal had been struck. I predicted, however, that those details would not find their way into the finished painting.

On the panel where the outlines of my sister and her future husband waited to be given color, I noticed the outline of a vixen sitting at her feet. This addition had been requested by my father, representing our house. The Templar's shield was hanging on the wall behind them as arranged at Manning's insistence. The presence of these men filled every aspect of the painting, but my sister, my true sister was absent. What sat woodenly in the chair was the shell intended to meet the appearances that my father demanded as the ransom for the life of the man in the dungeon.

"So, Murchad, what do you think of Master Beaumont's subject," my father inquired of me from a corner as he oversaw the nervous artist's progress, "fitting, is it not? I plan on hanging it in the study and then have Beaumont make a second copy as a wedding gift for your sister."

I nodded, answering tactfully, "I am sure that Master Beaumont will execute it aptly. His skill is unrivaled among his peers."

"I hope you are correct," my father acquiesced, not noticing how Master Beaumont cringed slightly as he finished preparing the paint.

I can only imagine what control it took for the man to banish the slight tremors in his fingers that I noticed as he arranged his palette. With a breath he proceeded to paint the unhappy woman that sat before him with a resigned, steady expression. All else seemed to fall away but the task before him.

"Did you proclaim the banns?" my father asked.

"Yes, Father." I responded hollowly as I noticed my sister closing her eyes momentarily at the words, the only indication of emotion that she allowed herself.

When Manning had led her back from the dungeon, escorting her roughly to my mother's quarters where mother had nervously waited, she had tears running down her cheeks. As soon as the man had departed from her presence she had collapsed. I had been allowed to go to them from my own rooms when I requested it from the guards, but they had to stand in the doorway. What secrets they expected us to exchange, I puzzle to consider, but she sobbed openly as my mother cradled her in the middle of the floor.

I got to my knees beside her, placing a gentle hand upon her shoulder but she shook it off, refusing my comfort, "Go, depart from me, Brother. I destroy all who attempt to reach out to me. I could not bear if anything were to happen to you on my account. Leave before the curse of me ensnares you."

I raised questioning eyes to my mother, but she shook her head and gestured for me to leave. I complied and returned to my room, my gut feeling weak with the strength of her sorrow.

When next I saw her, she maintained a mien devoid of emotion. Much of that was probably pretense to deny Father satisfaction. She would not allow him to see how deeply the pair of them had wounded her. I had witnessed this response many times during our childhood. She had become adept at it with Fendril and Ronan, who made wagers on who could more deeply disturb or upset her.

"Ah, dearest Mae," Ronan enthused as he suddenly entered the study, as if conjured by my memories. His words sounded false as they flowed from his lying mouth, though the voice was pleasant, "You look radiant, as a blushing bride should. You will be a treasure for your husband."

The sudden tension in her jaw showed the strain it caused her to hold her tongue. I absently wondered if Master Beaumont had noticed as he hurriedly began to apply a second coat to the non-existent vixen in the corner before turning his attention to the folds of Mae's dress. What I would have given for her to throw of the mantle of complacency and surge forward in all her angry glory, as I had once seen her do to Ronan when we were about eight. She had thrown herself at him, with fists flying, bloodying his nose when he had taunted her beyond her forbearance.

My brother was obliviously gushing to Manning about the discipline the Templars had exhibited during his recent visit to the compound, "They have all the penitents in hand and are making splendid progress, but I am sure you are well aware of that. Arl Boese seems quite pleased and concurred with my observations."

The words caused me inward pause, _"penitents?"_ I dared not ask, but what he said made me feel uneasy. Mae flicked her eyes briefly at me, as if she felt it too.

"On the morrow I will return to my men," Manning declared, "I will escort my lady to Swidden on my way to Heidrunscap. She will pass her time as guest to Lord Boese while I make final preparations before the wedding. Is that not right, my pet?" He said this last with a bent of patronizing my sister, who made no reply or gave him any acknowledgment.

My brother smirked, "Ah, the gift of a meek and silent woman. Ser Manning you are truly blessed. If only I could find one so agreeable. Perhaps I shall send word to Denerim come spring and make inquiries of eligible noble woman there. Surely some must have survived the darkspawn." My sister's face flushed slightly and I construed she was near her breaking point, and it caused me fear.

"I would relish a visit to the post at Heidrunscap. It would be beneficial to me to examine the Templars in training, do you not agree, Father?" I cut in, drawing my father's sharp eyed attention.

He considered me a moment before stating, "You have never shown an interest in such things before, Murchad. Why so eager now?"

Imposing a convincing smile on my lips and donning an insipid look in my eyes, imitating a pup eager to please, I insisted, "With poor Fendril now gone, Ronan will be busy taking on his previous duties closer to home. You will need a liaison to represent our family with the Templars and occasionally Arl Boese. Is it not reasonable that I serve in this capacity as Ronan did?"

"Perhaps," my father concurred following a pregnant pause. "I take it you would wish to accompany Ser Manning and your sister to Swidden?"

"I would not presume, Father. I merely wish to meet your pleasure." My words were wheedling within my own mind, hoping he would agree to my request. If I accompanied Mae it might offer her a degree of comfort and support. I did not wish to see her travelling alone with my foreboding future brother-in-law. I could strive to devise a means of escape for us when we were no longer under Father's scrutiny.

"Father," Ronan sputtered, interrupting my thoughts, "Murchad is unaccustomed to such exchanges. Is it wise to so abruptly remove my current responsibilities? In a month or so, when things are more settled with the winter upon us, perhaps he could be more properly versed in the customary functions of a liaison."

"Perhaps, but Murchad makes a valid point," my father countered, "As my heir, you will need to spend more time here, building ties with the guards and drilling. I will need you here. It would not be amiss if your brother accompanied Mae and Ser Manning, familiarizing himself with the operations of Arl Boese and the Templar order, since they wield the greatest power here in the Cauldron." My father smiled politely at Ser Manning as he said this.

"As you wish," Ser Manning agreed, casting me a pointed look from the corner of his eye.

During this discussion, the artist had finished most of Mae's dress, but he observed in his heavy Orlesian accent, "The Lady is flushed from sitting by the fire, Arl Crewe. Perhaps she should retire for a time while I work on Ser Manning's regal profile. She can cool herself and when she returns I will be able to complete her, using her alabaster skin as a perfect contrast to the darkness of the dress. We would not wish her complexion to resemble an overripe tomato."

Father seemed annoyed by the artist's presumption, but allowed Mae to be excused, instructing me, "Walk your sister to your mother's quarters. Do not dawdle, but return to me immediately. We have arrangements to make for the morrow."

I bowed slightly to him, approached my sister where she sat, gently untying the azure ribbon from her wrist, momentarily freeing her from her bonds. The brown eyes that looked up at me spoke gratitude as I took her hand and led her from the room. It was a small escape, but it allowed us a moment to speak as we had not done since her arrival during that fateful night.

"I need your help," she breathed to me when we were out of earshot of the study, but dared not speak too loudly for fear a servant or guard should report it to Father.

I nodded, "Anything, Mae, but I am nearly as shackled as you. Since your arrival I am under constant scrutiny. It will only get worse as Ronan becomes more active as heir apparent."

"Is there any way you can see to Ser Sellose's conditions? I do not trust Father's word to free him. I fear he will try to have him executed or keep him indefinitely. Father tortured him, Murchad! Though I have cooperated, he is not scrupulous and neither is Manning." She wheezed, she struggled to hold back the tears she had been bottling for hours and some spilled down her cheeks.

"I will do what I can, Mae," I promised. "I swear I shall help as the Maker allows."

She nodded, "That is all I can ask. At least see that he receives food and some kind of poultice for his burns."

"What did they do to him?" I questioned when she mentioned burns, but on being asked she suddenly looked ashamed, broken, and I wished that I had held back my curiosity.

"Never mind, Mae," I rushed forward as we came to Mother's door, "he will be cared for and I will strive to help him in any way I can."

"There was a woman with him," she added, "make sure that she is cared for as well. The poor creature had been crying when I had been first brought to the dungeons to see him. I had feared that it was Bruna, but it was not her voice and Father would have recognized her if it was. That woman was probably some luckless traveler or Avvar woman that they had come across."

I assured her I would do my best, and kissed her forehead reassuringly before leaving her, giving my mother a fond nod as she opened the door. I scurried back down the hall, but stopped short at the stairs that lead to the dungeon. Outside the door was a sentry and I stopped to speak to him. My father was expecting me, but I had to fulfill my promise to Mae. If I acted like Ronan, I might be able to convince the guard to do as I asked without a worry of my father finding out. The guards answered to authority and I had to change my attitude in order to become an authority.

"Guard, I need you to see to the needs of the two prisoners. Make sure they receive proper attention. I will return within the hour to see that they have received food and are clothed." I commanded, fixing the man with a hard glare.

The man seemed startled by my address and was flustered when he answered, "But I have not received any orders from Arl Crewe regarding the prisoners."

"Previously you answered to my brother, Arlson Fendril," I explained, taking care to edge each syllable with annoyance, "and my father did not bother with such concerns as prisoners. My brother, Arlson Ronan, will soon be taking over my late brother's responsibilities, but I too am a son of the arl. In the interim I have interests in seeing this estate run smoothly. It would not be wise to cross me. You are no doubt familiar with the methods of my older brothers. I too was raised at my father's knee and know how to find blood. Have I made myself clear, dear fellow, or should I report your reluctance to heed me to my father? He is far less understanding than I when it comes to questions of authority."

The guard seemed troubled and opened his mouth a few times before nodding his compliance, "Yes, Arlson Murchad, I will see to the prisoners immediately. When you return you will find all your commands have been met."

"Make sure they are," I snapped without wavering before continuing on to the study without looking back. I could vaguely hear the crash of a heavy oak door being opened and the clatter of armor as the man harried himself to fulfill the tasks I had demanded.

"This mouse will have to learn how to bark like a fox from now on if I am to be of any use to Mother and Mae. There is no room for cowering now." I muttered to myself as I approached the door to my father's study and walked inside the den.


	48. Chapter 32: Hero of One

**Chapter 32: Hero of One**

_Alistair / Ser Sellose_

_I burned. I lay on a beach unable to move with a harsh sun beating down on me. The sand was hot against my skin, blistering my back. My eyes stung and I kept them closed. A harsh ringing in my ears accompanied the heat. It hurt. It _all_ hurt._

_ "You cannot stay here" spoke a familiar voice._

_ Squinting my eyes as I opened them, I felt hot tears scalding my cheeks with the pain. It is a sad thing when even tears offer no relief. My vision was bleary as I looked up at the figure who had spoken, light glinting off his armor. As my eyes adjusted, his figure became clearer and I could just barely make out Rian's face amid the glare. His brow was furrowed, he looked troubled._

_ "You cannot stay here, my king," he insisted again, "you are on the edge of the border of the Fade. Much longer and the mist will claim you. There will be no going back once it does."_

_ As if to illustrate his point, I could make out a swirling mist beyond him. It looked ominous but soothing and my skin felt seared so that part of me longed for the moist vapor that mist promised. I leaned my head back again and closed my eyes, hoping the stinging would abate. More so than the rest, the space over my ribs hurt where I had been branded. Recognizing it seemed to clear some of the muddled, scorched thoughts in my head._

_ "King Alistair there is not much time!" He encouraged, "Get up! Our country needs their king!"_

_ I moaned, "I cannot help one woman, how can I help a country?"_

_ "You inspire us, Alistair." He scolded and I ventured to open my eyes again, he was no longer standing but on his hands and knees next to me, trying to get me to stand up without touching me, "You are a good man. You do not want to be king because you worry that you have nothing to offer. You do not desire power but you want what is best for your people. Some men see people as beneath them, but you treat everyone with respect, insisting that all can be worthy of it. You are not limited by your birth."_

_ "I hate feeling this helpless," I murmured, feeling something stirring inside at his words._

_ His voice sounded exasperated at the next words, "Then do not allow yourself to be helpless. You were not just given the strength of arms; you were given a wise mind. Use it!"_

_ "I do not have the strength for this!" I growled, shifting slightly against the sand, every limb feeling like lead._

_ "You swore to Arl Auber that you would bring Svenya to Denerim safely," he challenged me, "would you allow yourself to be forsworn?"_

_ "What if I cannot save her?" I demanded, feeling something in my arms loosen and they no longer weighed as heavily against the ground, "I have already had one woman haunt me who I could not save, who instead saved me and everyone."_

_ Rian considered what I said before tearing into me, "If you stay here you will not be able to save anyone. You are the king of Ferelden and you are honor bound to try! You have faced an archdemon and hordes of darkspawn. You are no coward."_

"_I did not face the archdemon – Tabris did! I would have traded this crown I did not even desire for her life. She took my place to strike that final blow for the sake of Ferelden and for the sake of the love she bore for me. It was a love I threw away out of a sense of duty and it was a mistake," I ground out the words, frustrated, exhausted, "Now another woman has sacrificed her freedom on my behalf and she knows me not at all. I am not a man if I could not spare her this outrage, let alone be a king. If I cannot save her, what is the rest of Ferelden to me? I may as well stay here and let the Fade have me."_

_ "Sometimes it is not about being the hero of all, sometimes it is about being the hero of one! There is more to all this than one woman, but that is where you must start. It is all in ripples, Alistair, like in the face of a great pond when a stone is cast in to disturb the surface. They move outward. Whatever starts in the Cauldron will end in Denerim. You are in the place you need to be in order to address those resulting events and it starts now!" He was shouting at me by this point, his voice daring me to get up and I found myself struggling to move if only to be in a better position to argue. I rolled over onto my stomach, the grit of the sand grinding into my raw wound on my chest, and it made me even more determined to get up onto my hands and knees to face him._

_ In response he got to his feet and I followed suit. Squaring off we stared at each other, as if we were two opponents taking each taking the other's measure. His eyes were no longer the same. Rian looked older somehow, as if death had matured him. He saw both me and beyond me._

_ "Why me?" I demanded._

_ Rian sighed, like a man carrying the weight of eternity and his eyes took on a vague look of pity, "Because, Alistair, you have the potential; not all men do. You have not reached the apex yet, but you are on the journey to it. This was necessary."_

_ The wound on my chest seemed to twinge with that and I blurted, "I am sorry. It should not have been you to die. It should not have been your responsibility to tell me this."_

_ "What I chose belongs to me, and not even your regret can steal it from me or lessen it. You are not alone in feeling this. A sacrifice is a gift to those we love; it is not intended to be a burden but a source of strength. It is my privilege to guide you now." He smiled slightly, "Now go, she needs you. That comes first. The rest will follow."_

_ The world became shiny around the edges and I thought I heard a voice singing. The Chantry hymns were broken, off key, vaguely familiar and yet strange. Letha's voice found me there and I turned in order to be better able to hear it, to make out the words:_

_ "It is only in love that we bear the burden of living,_

_It is only in love that we learn the joy of giving,_

_It is only in love that we follow the Maker's feet,_

_It is only in love that we learn to be complete…"_

"_It is only in love that we find honor,_

_It is only living in honor that enables us to love._

_Maker soften the hearts of men,_

_So we might live in honor and learn to love again."_

_ The phrases were mismatched or mistaken, I could not decipher which, but the words drew me away from Rian and away from the mist. I felt the heat, but I shivered too, my skin felt clammy and the blinding sunlight reverted into shadow as I moved forward._

* * *

My eyes fluttered open, looking up into Letha's face, I shuddered slightly where I lay on the floor, but beneath me there was a blanket that eased the cold of the stones. She gently rested a cold rag upon my forehead and it did not smell as greatly of the brackish water we had been using.

"Is he coming around?" This masculine voice was not familiar to me, but it sounded concerned.

I cocked my head slightly so I could get a better look at the speaker. The man wore simple, elegant clothes of hunter green and deep brown. The face was neither hard nor soft, the nose was hawkish, but the eyes softened this feature. It was the eyes that caught my attention more than anything else. They were deep brown eyes and were very familiar. They looked like Svenya's eyes…

"I am sorry," the man stated, "I wish we were meeting under better circumstances. I am Murchad and I believe you are a friend of my sister, Mae."

I swallowed down a very dry throat, "Is she alright? They have not hurt her, have they…?"

"Physically she is fine, but she is very worried for you. I am afraid your wounds look angry and I suspect the brackish water they left for you did not help." He groaned, "You probably need a healer but I cannot bring you one, even if there were one in the vicinity. Most of the women that could be characterized as such have either fled these lands or were taken by the Templars."

I struggled to sit up, but every muscle ached and my right shoulder and left shin especially hurt, though nothing compared to the branding burns. In the end, Letha maneuvered herself behind me and hoisted me up with trembling arms. At this angle I could better address Murchad, "Are there Templars still here?"

"Yes, but they leave on the morrow, with both my sister and me in tow." He explained, kneeling on the floor so he would not tower above me.

"Why take your sister with them?" I asked, confused.

"It is Ser Manning's wishes that they should be married near the Templar compound at Heidrunscap. It is close to Swidden, so Mae will be sent there as a guest of Boese and to make final preparations for the ceremony." He said all this with a glum expression.

I hissed amid the throbbing in my skull, "How can they perform a ceremony with no Chantry? There is no Revered Mother or Sister to speak the rites."

He sighed, "It probably does not matter to Ser Manning, Arl Boese or my father. The Templars have holy authority here. They will probably have another Templar perform the rites and assume that is enough. I was forced to announce the banns myself near the ruins of the Chanter's board. May the Maker's Bride forgive me!"

"Blasphemy!" This was croaked by Sister Letha behind me, her shocked voice choking on the word.

"I know," he acquiesced, "but if I had refused it would not have ended well."

I felt myself shudder again with fever, but I forced myself to remain upright and take some of my weight off Letha, "We cannot sit by and do nothing. Do you know what your father has planned for us?"

"Yes," he admitted, "they made plans this afternoon in Father's study. They plan to free you to the custody of the Templars, provided you do not die of illness here. I doubt that was what my sister had intended when she demanded that they free you, but they are not interested in following the intent of their deal as much as the letter of it."

"Might they take us along with you tomorrow, then?" I questioned, feeling the mill of my mind turning in my head which made it throb worse.

"Not if you are in this condition. The trip may be short, no more than two days, but it could potentially kill you with the autumn chill in the air coupled with a fever." He replied.

I groaned, "Your sister studied herb lore under Bruna. She could make me some kind of tea that might alleviate my symptoms."

"In less than a day?" he sounded incredulous.

"It is a chance we have to take," I insisted. "Perhaps you could reason with your father that it might be wise for me to be brought along with you tomorrow. My presence could assure that your sister will not back out of her bargain until the ceremony has been completed. With me ill I am not likely to cause your guards trouble."

He shrugged, "It might work, but I would have to broach it with my father. I will try and communicate with Mae, but what if she cannot concoct anything for you that will help?"

"Then I am at the Maker's mercy, as are we all in this situation." I allowed.

He glanced nervously down the hallway before getting to his feet, "I have stayed too long as is. I had only intended to bring you some blankets and some thicker clothes. There is fresh water in a clean bucket. I do not know if I will be able to return, but I will try my best."

"Thank you, Murchad," my strength seemed to be ebbing and Letha lowered me onto my back again as the young man hastily called for the guard who let him out.

"Will he help us?" Letha asked quietly once he had left.

I shook my head, "He will try. If he is anything like his sister, then it will be enough!"

"He is kind," Letha observed.

My head hurt too much to nod. His eyes had said more than his words. He was frightened for Mae and that enabled him to act. There was a determination that struggled to the surface within those depths and that had the potential to make him a powerful ally. I had to trust Murchad, he was our only option.

I allowed sleep to claim me again, hoping that if I must dream that a friend would be waiting for me. Thoughts of Bruna and Ser Grey niggled at the edge of my troubled mind and I wondered what had become of them. Wherever they were, I prayed that they were safer than we.


	49. Interlude 16: The Forgotten Paragon

_**Interlude 16: The Forgotten Paragon**_

_Shaper Czibor of the Orzammar Shaperate_

_It is the responsibility of the shaperate to collect and maintain the Memories of the people of the stone. We look to our past and our ancestors in order to better understand our future. Without our history we merely grope in the darkness._

_We must remember it all, both the worthy and the unworthy. In recalling the worthy we strive to emulate them. In recalling the unworthy we strive to avoid the failings that bring nothing but destruction._

_Much has been lost over the ages, our thaigs have fallen but we strive to recover and record what has been lost. Each piece brought to light is worthy of rejoicing and added to the vast array of knowledge already collected. Always we seek what has been forgotten._

_We can only truly forget that which we choose to forget. Even a paragon can be forgotten if they bring evil upon their people that outweigh their contribution. Thus all dwarves must be wary of arrogance or recklessness._

_In the old records there is an example of one instance where the name of a paragon has been removed. On stone tablets of the long Memories it speaks of a paragon, a dwarven miner of immense ambition from the thaig of Heidrun. He discovered a lyrium vein so pure; few had seen its ilk in the tunnels below his thaig. He created a means to mine and process the ore faster than any before or since. For the methods he created he became revered and was named paragon._

_The ore was brought forth in large quantities and was distributed to both eager smiths and artisans. With it they could create armor so strong and items so delicate that they were sought after by many, particularly the nobles._

_There was an evil in this ore. It is suggested in the Memories that the paragon's own ambitions poisoned it, making it unfit for use and the dwarves' natural immunity to lyrium was compromised. Over time, all who had contact with this lyrium became mad: turning violent or losing all sense of self, their minds dominated by the effects of the lyrium. The illness spread and many began to suspect the cause and called for the ore to be shunned. Measures were taken to destroy any object made with the ore; much was discarded into the molten rivers that fed the forges._

_The paragon scoffed at this in his pride and he strove to prove that nothing was amiss with the lyrium. In a public display he clasped a beautifully crafted necklace made from the ore around the neck of his own beloved wife. The woman believed in her husband and refused to remove it. This faith became her downfall._

_Though many of the details of the subsequent events are vague in the records, it relates that the woman began to claim hearing the stone itself singing. Insisting in her claims, she madly tried to get others to hear the song as well. Her actions went so far that they resulted in the death of her youngest child. She was named murderess and sentenced to be abandoned in the Deep Roads by the Assembly._

_Her husband, the paragon, felt deeply the guilt of his wife, insisting that the fault lay with his own pride in the ore that fueled her madness. He chose to accompany her into the Deep Roads and it is believed that they perished in the darkness together._

_The Assembly, not satisfied with the death of the paragon, commanded that his name be struck from all records in the Memories, though an account of what had befallen him would be maintained as a warning for future generations. All records of the location of the lyrium vein and the paragon's extraction methods were also destroyed for fear they would be replicated out of another's misguided greed. His house was dissolved and some of his line chose to live on the surface rather than carry the shame among us._

_Though the paragon was gone, the evil consequences of the ore remained among our people. Many that had fallen ill from the poison the ore had unleashed never recovered. Some were abandoned to either the surface forests or to the tunnels by their families who were unwilling to kill them outright, though it might have been perceived as a mercy. Some locked them away in their own homes where the shrieks of the troubled could be heard for many years until they succumbed. There was not a single family who had not suffered a loss as a result: a father, a brother, a mother, a sister. Three generations passed before the population recovered._

_We remember this evil brought upon us so that it will never occur again, but the paragon himself is forgotten. His name is dead as is fitting._


	50. Chapter 33: The Dark Lady

**Chapter 33: The Dark Lady**

_Ser Simon Grey_

The morning following King Alistair and Letha's hasty departure, we sat outside our borrowed, dilapidated hut. We had refrained from running after them and scouring the darkness. Such an action would have been rash and unwise. If they had returned and we were wandering the wilderness it would have caused more undue worry and confusion. We would have had no hope of finding them while stumbling in the woods at night.

It was a restless night; neither Bruna nor I could sleep, keeping the fire stoked in hopes that the light would guide the wayward king back to us with Letha in tow. I knew full well he would not return without her. Once I might have scolded him for that…once…

Much of the time Bruna resembled a deer with its head raised, poised at every sound, sniffing the wind itself for any sign of them. She was peaceful on the surface, but I could feel the tension in her. The muscles were ready to send her flying into action if she were needed. For a woman of her years, she was both quick and shrewd. I found myself vaguely wishing she could use a sword along with her other gifts. If would have been better for us in the event of an attack.

When daybreak came they had still not returned.

"We will break camp and track them," I announced to Bruna, "There should be some kind of tracks to follow with how erratically Letha was behaving. She probably broke plenty of twigs and her trek will be obvious. In his haste, the king must have also made obvious tracks."

She nodded, "That sounds to be the wisest course of action. I shall gather our effects. Can you snuff the fire, Ser Lion?"

"Aye," I affirmed. Even with my sword arm slung up to prevent its usage, I could still carry a water skin. I had unharnessed my great sword from my back the previous night and had leaned it against the hut so that it was in easy reach, though it would be absurd for me to swing it with my injury. It was foolish to retrieve it and have Bruna help to strap it back onto me while she was gathering supplies. Even if I was wearing it on my short trip to fill the skin at the small stream, if anything happened I would not be able to wield it.

I scuttled quickly to the stream, resolving to return quickly, making the sword unnecessary. Bruna had explained to me that the Avvars are careful to choose a hold with a reliable water supply. This stream had served her people for a long time and had never dried up, being fed by some mountain spring and it now offered us clean water. The water skin was immersed in the cold mountain water, the skin of my right hand turning pale and tingling in the rush as it held the skin beneath the surface. Once the skin was full, I struggled to replace the stopper with my right hand while steadying it against my chest and spilling some of the contents onto me. The cold seeped through my tunic and caused me to gasp with the autumn chill. It would not be many weeks before the water would freeze.

When my job had been completed I started to return to the hut, but before I could enter the clearing the sound of thundering hooves stopped me and I quickly concealed myself behind a tree. The cold spot left by the water on my tunic seemed to spread, causing a chill at the back of my neck where the hair stood at attention. Peering into the clearing from where I hid, I noted a group of five riders. They wore no armor, so they were not Templars, but they also wore no colors either that bespoke their allegiances or identified them as being part of a retinue. Their tunics and breeches were dirty and did not recommend them. I suspected that they were either thieves or mercenaries prowling the valley. They reminded me of the scrawny wolves that had attacked us: they were all hunger but carried an underlying air of grim purpose. They were dangerous.

Bruna continued to bustle around the camp as if she were still alone, with the pretense of paying no heed to them. As she always did, she watched them askance from the corner of her eyes. She spoke not a word until one of them addressed her, "Well, old mother, why are you in this place of dust and rot?"

She straightened up from where she stooped and answered simply, "I am no mother of yours, old or otherwise, for if I were you would know this was once the winter hold of my clan."

"So, you are an Avvar then?" another man, leaner than the rest and riding a finer horse, questioned as the others listened with confident grins on their faces.

"I am," she nodded and then returned to her drudgery.

"Your people are not here, though," the man prodded pointedly.

"No," she allowed, not pausing in her activity, "they apparently have found other grounds for the winter rest."

The man continued to needle her, "How is it that you were unaware of this?"

She replied, picking up her kettle and examining it closely before rubbing at a spot on its surface with the edge of her tunic, "I have been away for a number of years. It had been my hope to rejoin them in my waning time."

"A good story, old one," the man answered, though a taunting edge sharpened his words, "but it does not explain why you have that sword." He gestured with an extended finger to my sword where it leaned near the doorway of the hut.

"I scavenged it during my journey. If necessary I planned to sell it. It is of too awkward a size for me to swing myself." She answered with a shrug. For the first time I was grateful for the loss of our horses when they had run off during the bear attack. In Bruna and King Alistair's focus on our wellbeing they could not go after them, particularly in the darkness. By the following morning they were long gone and to bother chasing the beasts would have eaten time we had been hoping to gain in order to overtake Svenya and Rian. If they had been here, the men would have easily seen there were more of us.

While Bruna kept the men occupied and distracted, I followed the tree line and kept myself concealed in the shadows cast by the huts, hoping to move to a point behind them and catch them off guard. If I could knock one from their horse I might be able to gain an advantage.

Even without my sword, I still had a hunting knife that I carried at my waist. In all my years of training I had spurned the use of daggers, for they were no help when menaced by an opponent with a sword. Daggers lacked the reach necessary to defend oneself. Now I had a potential weapon that I had no skill with other than to slice a wing from a game bird. Other than that I was unarmed and gravely missed my armor. It made me think of Svenya and her desire to learn how to use the great sword. She had tried to improve even though it was far more difficult for her to wield its heft. Here I stood, the light blade felt clumsy in my large hand, but I held it at the ready.

"This camp is far too big for one woman," the suspicious man continued, interrupting my thoughts, "You will not mind if my men check the woods for unwelcome company."

It was not a question addressed to Bruna, but an order to the others and they readily obeyed, sliding off the backs of their horses and quickly fanning out into the forest.

One passed near to me, reminding me of my years being trained by the Redcliffe knights to scout ahead for them.

"Pretend to be a rabbit, Simon," Ser Rutherford had counseled me, "Remain still in the brush until a threat has passed. If the threat will not pass, stay still long enough for it to come in striking distance. You need not be powerful to overwhelm an opponent, only precise.

I eased my other arm from the sling, for I would not be able to eliminate the threat with only one arm. Switching the blade to my weak hand, I flexed my fingers around the handle and felt the searing pain, but I needed my strong arm to incapacitate my target. No armor, no sword, but I still had my wits after so many years.

I waited behind a tree, listening carefully for the rustling of the brown grass to betray the man as he approached close enough. He passed with a short sword drawn and as he passed my arms shot out, my right hand clapped over his mouth, the other swiftly ran the knife across his throat. The squealing was squelched by my fingers as the blood spurted onto my sleeves and over my hands, but I held tight. When the man's jerking had subsided I lowered him to the ground and proceeded to draw closer to Bruna, the leader sitting astride his horse and towering above her.

She had stilled in her preparations in order to regard the man before her and he stared back at her condescendingly. I weaved around the horses where the men had left them milling about the clearing, careful not to startle them with my movements, though they appeared nervous and tense already. One of them whinnied as I brushed past it and paused.

Bruna must have caught sight of me, realizing my proximity, for she observed, "I belong here. You have yet to account for your presence in this place. Why are you here?"

"I am not accountable to you," he snorted, "Your kind is being forced from the Cauldron. If I find nothing amiss, I will consider whether or not to turn you over to the Templars. They have rounded up plenty of you. In the meantime I want to see that sword. Fetch it here."

Her face was neutral as she turned and walked to the sword, solidly gripping it beneath the pommel at the sheath. The man beckoned her forward, to which she complied, stopping short a foot from him and raising it slightly with only her left hand, though its weight caused her arm to tremble. The man leaned forward and down to relieve her of it. When he had bent as far as he would go, she swung out swiftly with the right had that still gripped the kettle by the handle, striking him on the side of his temple. Being already off balance and awkward due to the way he was leaning, the surprise strike easily unhorsed him. He fell to the ground with a heavy thud as I rushed forward and Bruna hopped back beyond his reach. Grabbing him by the scruff of the neck with my good hand, I hauled him to his feet before I looped my arm beneath his right armpit, pressing the palm of the hand behind his neck and against the pressure point there. My left hand gripped the knife tightly despite the throbbing of my arm, the knuckles were white, but I was determined to maintain control in spite of the pain. The point of the blade pressed against his pulse at the juncture of his neck and the back corner of his jaw.

"One of your men is dead," I hissed, my own pain causing my eyes to water, "it would not take much for me to kill you. Why are you here?"

The man chuckled, seemingly unconcerned with his predicament, "Only one? That means there are three more. One shout from me and they will come. Only one of you is armed and could probably face them in a fight. They will dispatch you before you can do me much harm."

"You presume much for a man with a knife at his throat. One flick of my wrist and you are dead." I sneered, willing myself to stay my hand but maintain the pressure. I wanted information; being the leader of this group he was the one most likely to possess it. If they had already captured the king and Letha, then perhaps he could be a bargaining chip for their release, but it would be of no consequence if his men killed us while we attempted to glean information from him.

I did not have long to consider my conundrum. Suddenly there was screaming and a commotion coming from the woods. The horses were frightened and bolted as the three remaining men ran screaming into the clearing surrounded by huts. Following closely at their heels was the largest spider I had ever recalled seeing. I had heard tales of them, but by the grace of the Maker had never come into contact with them in my many years, until this moment. It made a skittering sound as ichor drooled from its mandibles, with a sudden leap it landed on one of the hapless men as he stumbled backwards. The man was impaled by its jaws and sucked deeply the man's blood, with a rasping sound akin to the slurp a man makes when drinking from a bowl of soup. The spider then shot a string of web at another man, tripping him as he ran and then stalked toward him, surrounding him quickly with its silk as the man struggled, thrashing like a snake until the spider either stunned or killed him with a quick strike to the head. The third man ran screaming towards us when he was caught by an arrow between his shoulder blades, causing him to stop suddenly as if in shock before keeling forward, dead.

I released my hold on the mercenary in order to stagger back, grabbing up my sword, struggling to unsheathe it with my right hand. Even gripping it in both hands and lifting it, I could feel the stitches in my shoulder tear further and growled with the strain. I shuffled to the side, trying to place myself between Bruna and the greater threat of the spider.

The man I had released scrabbled backwards across the ground as the spider made its way toward us, slowly as if it was stalking us, keeping us within its many eyed gaze.

"Bruna, when I rush the spider, run into the woods. If you stay in the open it will be easier to catch you." I whispered to her as she stood behind me. The man whimpered and picked up the hunting knife I had discarded to unsheathe the sword. He was no longer arrogant; he was more concerned with getting out alive.

"Ser Lion," Bruna quietly replied, "that is not a spider, regardless of how it appears. Even if that were not the case, it did not fire the arrow that killed that man. There is more than a spider here."

"Indeed," came a distinctly feminine voice, "you are wise, Mountain Mother. Not given to believe all that is laid before you at a glance. You are truly one of the mountain children."

The monstrous spider seemed to diminish slightly as it moved forward. The extra legs retracted and it stretched up, its bulbous form thinning out. The dark skin lightened in spots, revealing patches of pale, human skin. A head extended, with the visage of a woman becoming visible with bright yellow eyes, similar to those of an owl, seeing all before her. Black hair crowned her head and her dark red lips crooked in a cool smile.

She stopped and stood before us, slinging a staff from off her back, resting it onto the ground, looking at us with an appraising gaze before pointing her staff in the direction of the leader, "You have been asked twice. Now you are being asked a third time. Your life hinges on the answer. Why are you here?"

"Witch!" he howled, spitting the word with such venom.

"Wrong answer," she stated before a bolt of electricity shot out at him, striking him squarely on the chest and knocking him to the ground again.

She walked forward, ignoring us completely, and stood over the prone man as he shuddered with the shock until it ebbed and he merely twitched nervously. She touched her staff to his throat near where my knife had nicked his flesh, "This is your last opportunity to appease _this witch._ What is your purpose for being here?"

"I was hired by Arl Boese of Swidden," he moaned, fear in his eyes as he stared up at her, "he has gathered mercenaries from Ferelden and over the border in Orlais. They say he is planning a siege on Denerim using Orlesian ships to attack by sea. He needed men to create a landing force. He did not have enough Templars."

I was shocked and startled, "What would spur him to make such a move?"

The man smiled at me, "He does not confide in me the specifics. He merely says he has a rendezvous in Denerim that he must keep."

"What about the Orlesian ships?" I demanded, my hand balling into a fist, "Where did he get them?"

"A rich backer in Val Royeaux, I suspect. He receives missives from over the border, but has yet to trust any of my men with them. He is currently orchestrating his strategies with Arl Crewe." He chuckled at me, "He has some contacts in Denerim as well. One of them was your comrade at arms, Old Knight!"

I straightened up slightly at that but continued to glare at him, and he continued, "What? Are you surprised that I recognized you? You might not remember me for you were unconscious at the time we transported you. Ser Eddols led you into the ambush for us, but got himself killed. We had not been paid the full amount promised and planned to ransom you back to Redcliffe in order to get the money back, hoping that Boese would not find out about our taking a side assignment while working for him. Eddols wanted you out of the way, but did not tell us why. We only get paid for our actions and we receive a bonus if we don't ask questions."

"You bastard!" I ground and he merely laughed outright.

"What are you hoping to gain by continuing on here?" he taunted, "You are one man. We captured that other knight of yours and the woman he was travelling with and the Templars have brought them to Arl Crewe. You are alone! You have no hope of taking down Arl Boese and you are lost in the Cauldron, no opportunity to get word back to Denerim at this distance with any hope of it reaching them in time before he makes his move. You have lost!"

"So the Arl of Swidden is raising an army?" the dark woman prodded, drawing his attention back to her, "That is a bold move so close to Orlais, unless he has the Empress' blessing."

"As I said, I know nothing of his connections in Orlais!" he sneered.

"Then you are of no more use to me." She quipped before sending another bolt through the staff and directly into the man's body. He screamed, and the sound only got louder until it was nothing more than a piercing whistle. He smoked, his skin blackened, his body shuddered violently and we took another step back until the sound and the throes had subsided. He was nothing more than a blackened cinder on the ground, still crackling slightly with the after effects of the attack.

The woman turned her calm visage to us, her voice edged with thoughtfulness, "Now what to do with you, I wonder. He addressed you as knight, though you wear no armor. You do not carry yourself as a Templar but as an old soldier."

"I am Ser Simon Gray," I intoned, watching her warily like you would a wild animal, waiting for her to turn her staff on me. When she failed to lash out at me I continued, "I am a knight bound in service to King Alistair."

Though her expression did not waver at my words, something snapped to attention in her eyes, she continued archly, "So you serve the King himself. He would not just send any man into the wilds alone. You must be well trusted."

I sighed, "As the mercenary said, I was leading a group of my fellow knights when we were betrayed."

"And what was your mission, I wonder?" she asked with a slight upward lilt to her voice.

"We were on a diplomatic mission to make contact with the arlings here in the Cauldron," I shook my head, carefully withholding some of what I knew, "things have become complicated and our mission has altered slightly. I must rescue my comrade from the Arl of Cloughbark."

She continued to regard me for another moment before observing, "You are very brave, to be injured and yet attack a more able opponent." She made a vague gesture to my shoulder, with blood blossoming across the tunic, proof that I had torn the stitches, "You also willingly placed yourself in front of this woman to protect her from harm. A potentially foolhardy action, but it leads me to believe that you do not despise the wilder mountain folk."

"I have no reason to despise anyone but the scum that is threatening my country," I growled. I felt she was toying with me and I was tired of being manipulated, whether by the capricious hand of Fate or by this strange woman who seemed to look right through me and down to my small clothes. Bruna, sensing my rising choler, placed a warning hand upon my uninjured shoulder to bring me back to myself.

"Hmmm," she sighed, turning her back to me momentarily, pacing as if considering something, "I currently have an accord with an Avvar tribe in this vicinity and they have allowed me to live among them for a time while I search for something I require. In truth, I am being accompanied by a hunting party that has strayed slightly, hoping to locate some game in this forgotten hold." She indicated the man lying on the ground with the arrow in his back. We had seen no other evidence of the person who had shot it. She explained, "However, the upheaval has placed certain obstacles in my way. The Avvar people have become unhappy with the actions of these arls: Crewe and Boese. They claim that whatever they are doing is poisoning the land. Not only that, I can feel the boundaries of the Fade becoming thin in places. I have even noticed some tearing in weak areas. If this continues I will not be able to achieve what I have come here to do."

I remained silent, interpreting that she was not requiring me to respond and she continued, "The scattered tribes of the Cauldron are preparing for war against the arls, to drive them out. A desperate action, to my mind, but I need them to win."

"What does this have to do with me?" I questioned, feeling that she was leading us somewhere.

"These people are not prepared to meet a force with armor and superior weapons." She answered, "It does not mean they cannot win. It means that it makes it more difficult. Add to that the fact that they are fractured at best, fighting amongst themselves at the best of times. They are in desperate need of something that I am unable to provide, but I think you might offer quite handsomely."

"What is it?" I asked, my jaw becoming tight with expectation.

"A leader," she smiled at me her crooked smile that only touched one side of her mouth, her eyebrow arching as she gauged my response before expanding, "You could lead these people against the arls. I am certain you must be aware of tactics and maneuvers. It would be a challenge, but I think you will do nicely."

"I have not led men into battle since the final skirmishes of the Blight in Denerim." I replied in the negatory.

"Then you have more recent experience than many of the Avvar men. Their last major battles were decades ago. The battle in Denerim is but a year past." She stated this simply, as if what she said made perfect sense.

I shook my head and insisted, "I have a responsibility to my comrade. It cannot wait."

"And how will you rescue him, Ser Knight?" she rejoined, "As that _scum_ had stated truly, you are alone. Would not your chances be improved if you had an entire force behind you? Lay siege on the Arl of Cloughbark and regain your comrade at arms? Would that not be a far better plan than riding in alone only to be shot down by the archers at the top of the walls."

She had me…she had me and she knew it. I hung my head, unable to reply and she accepted that as answer enough, "You see reason far easier than many of the others I have had the misfortune to travel with. Now gather your things, Ser and Lady Mountain. I recommend you use what is in your skins to put out the fire and avoid drinking it. It is not fit and has been tainted with lyrium. We have better water farther up the mountain side that is not affected."

I looked to Bruna and she nodded. We dumped our water over the fire to snuff it out and piled it over with more dust to be extra sure. When the woman was certain we had completed gathering all that we needed, she led us into the woods, hardly giving us another glance.

"How should I address you?" inquired Bruna as we made our way through the trees, going to meet with the hunters that had been travelling with the apostate woman who carried herself more proudly than any noble I had ever met.

"I have no title," the woman called over her shoulder, her ebony hair bobbing slightly with each swaying step she took, "but you may call me Morrigan."


	51. Chapter 34: A Gift of Wings

**Chapter 34: A Gift of Wings**

_Svenya / Maerwynn_

I looked in the mirror and stared at my face…all of it.

The scar pigment had mellowed in the intervening years since my father had branded me in a fit of rage, but words still ring in my mind, _"You belong to me. You are my property. Whenever you see this you will remember that. All who look at you will know."_ It had been meant as a warning, not just to me, but to the people beneath me. If he could do this to his own daughter, what would he do to insolence from a servant?

Around my neck dangled a golden chain, like a glittering noose, that marked me as the betrothed of Ser Helyas Manning. The sword of mercy pendant had a pinprick point at its tip and it occasionally left thin scratches against the pale skin beneath my throat. Once, at an awkward moment when I stumbled over the hem of the new dress that I was required to wear, it drew a drop of blood. Only a Templar could believe that a sword is merciful and make a holy symbol a penance to wear.

Perhaps, over time, this arrangement would slowly bleed me dry.

I caught sight of my mother watching me in the vanity's reflection. Her eyes were tired and thoughtful, neither her nor I had slept well the past nights, but at least there is a comfort in shared misery. On realizing I returned her gaze she smiled slightly, "If my memory is correct, it is your natal day. Bruna delivered you in the wee hours after a particularly difficult night with your father. You and your brother were tiny beings of perfection. If she had not been there it could have been much worse and I was so grateful that you were both whole."

"Would it not have been better if we had died in infancy, Mother, or at least me?" I asked, not angry but in earnest. Would it not have spared us all if I had not lived through the winter? Would it not have spared the men that would one day follow me through the wooded roads of the Cauldron?

"Mae," my mother breathed, her eyes shimmering with tears, "you were a blessing and balm that soothed my existence for many years under the domestic tyranny of your father. Seeing you grow, not cowering beneath his or your older brothers' heels gave me some semblance of hope. I supposed Bruna had enabled that for you, since I could not. Perhaps it is selfish that I hoped to live vicariously through the strength of my daughter. Somehow I knew that you would escape your father…or I secretly hoped you would insight the people to revolt against him. You shined in such a way that far eclipsed your brothers, and I think they sensed it too. Even your father felt threatened by you. He did not fear Fendril's brutality or Ronan's machinations, and certainly not Murchad, who he believed was weak for his sense of kindness, but he feared you. He feared a girl, his own daughter, though he could never admit it. If any could have toppled his power it would have been you."

I laughed bitterly at that, "Yes, look at me now, having tried so long to escape only to be snared again."

"He thinks that he has broken you," she observed.

"It feels like he has," I admitted, rubbing the arm that Manning had recently handled in his gauntleted fist to steer me through a doorway and to a waiting chair that we might eat with my father in the dining room. I had been forced to take dinners with them and my brothers. I could not even take pleasure in Murchad's company, who pointedly ignored me to curry favor with Father, despite the daggers shot through Ronan's eyes.

Murchad had managed to slip me a brief note, apprising me of Sellose's condition and to see if I could procure some kind of tea to ease his fever. Our departure had been delayed due to a sudden autumn storm, and it had not improved Manning's demeanor, though it had bought me some time to concoct something from some of the herbs I had carried in my pack. I had secured from Bruna's stores before leaving Herfirien and was grateful I had thought to do so since I would not be allowed liberty to gather what I needed from the surrounding woods. I had not Bruna's gift with herbs, but I had learned some things while watching at her elbow.

Later in the night, Murchad managed to call at my mother's quarters "pay his respects" and collected the mixture in a small, folded paper pouch. I had not heard if he had managed to have the tea steeped for Sellose or if my friend had improved. I could only hope and this was not a place where hope thrived.

As I sat, rubbing my arm, trying vainly to ease the bruises of my betrothed's regard, something seemed to click in my mother's eyes. She stood and made her way to the fireplace, getting on her knees before the grate as one might do when they prayed. The firelight danced and caused the gray in her locks to glitter as she inclined her head, carefully studying the masonry to the right of the grate before reaching over and carefully easing a loose stone from its place, revealing a crevice. She removed an item concealed within and replaced the stone. She beckoned me to her and patted a spot on the rug beside her and I complied, though puzzled.

When I was seated on the floor beside her, she took my hand and gently placed a small item wrapped in a plain, linen cloth in the palm and closed my fingers over it, "If I had my liberty in naming you, I would have named you Carys, for your grandmother. Your father would never allow it, because deep down he had never forgotten the curse she bestowed on him the night she died. Along with her, on her pyre, he had most of her precious belongings burned. He wanted nothing to remind him of her, but I had managed to save this single thing that she always wore on her finger and took it after she died so that it would not be destroyed. I had hoped to bestow it on you when you came of age, but I worried what your father would do if he discovered it in your possession, so I bided my time. If not now, then it would probably remain moldering behind that stone and none would see it, but it was always meant for you."

I carefully unwrapped a signet ring, not unlike the one my uncle had given to me with the mountain goat crest, but this one was tarnished having been hidden away for many years. Carefully rubbing it with the hem of the dress I was able to make out the design. It was the outline of a swan, but not the kind you would usually expect with the fowl gliding across the water, its sloping neck bowed to gaze into the depths. No, the silhouette was that of a great bird in flight, its neck stretched toward a horizon and its wings spread in the wind.

"It had been made in Amaranthine. Mother Carys had kept it since her girlhood and it always reminded her of her favorite story. The one of Svenya…" Mother explained, her hands folded demurely in her lap, but her face was alive with her memories of my grandmother, a woman I had never met.

"Bruna told me that story many times," I was shocked that Lady Carys would have known the tale.

My mother smiled, "I know. Bruna was always a great story teller and I had often listened to her while I nursed you and Murchad. It helped to pass the time and helped me to forget, even for a little while. The story of Svenya, however, was one the only story I ever told to her. I, myself, had been told the story by Carys. She told me that it was one passed down by the women of her family, perhaps as a warning of the fate that awaited a woman that is matched to a cruel husband, or perhaps to offer hope. It had been my hope to share it with you….," she shook her head a moment, as if shaking a thought away before continuing, "Anyway, Bruna always understood the import of that story. It pleased me that you should hear it and learn it."

Holding the ring between my thumb and forefinger, I gazed at it in the firelight, memorizing the shape of the swan. The creature seemed so delicate, and at the same time so strong and certain of its direction, "I had always wanted to be Svenya. I wanted to fly away and make my own destiny. I would have taken the price of being a swan if it meant freedom. Once I asked Bruna if I could find the great bird in the Fade and request such a boon, but she dissuaded me from it, explaining that such beings are not found, they find you. To go searching would make one vulnerable to other things that hunt and are not so benevolent."

"You have walked the Fade," Mother stated quietly, "Mother Carys once spoke of possessing such a gift, though she did not go into detail. Maybe that is what enabled her to withstand the long years trapped on this estate by her marriage. She said it was dangerous if you had no one to show you the way, but some things were worth the risk. I am not entirely sure how I came to the isle of the black swan when I wandered the Fade. I had never walked the Fade before and I wondered if the spirit of the great bird was actually Carys, guiding me and protecting me in some small way."

"Such things are never small," I chided and my mother smiled.

I slipped the cool metal of the ring over my knuckle of my right ring finger and found that it suited me. The ring was neither too tight nor too loose and rested comfortingly against my flesh, the swan looking poised to fly across my hand. It seemed right in a sense that the rest of my world lacked.

"I am allowed very little certainty, Mae," my mother began to whisper before her voice started to gain in pitch and strength, "but this I know: the Maker never meant for you to be trapped here. You will find a way to escape again. You may not be strong in the way that men are, but you are wise. I keep faith in that, even as your father would erase all vestiges of it from these lands and adopt the teachings of those vain Templars…"

"Hush, Mother, not so loud. The guards might hear you." I tried to calm her.

She shook her head, but lowered her tone, "Let them hear me. There is naught that they can do to me that was not done long ago. Your father will not bother with me now and does not suffer me in his presence. I am realizing that this room affords me a certain freedom that I cannot exercise if your father cared to keep me at his side."

"It feels as if we have exchanged roles, you and I," I mused sadly.

"You have taught me to be brave, my girl," she smiled again, amused, "I have learned all from you. If there is any fire left in these bones, I would spit it and scorch your father's brows, Maker forgive me. A dragon without teeth still has fire."

I thought quickly to myself, "Mother, after Manning takes us from here, do you think you might be able to find a way to escape? You could make your way to Herfirien and go to Uncle Trian."

She sobered from her sudden levity and considered my words before answering, "At this point I have outlived my usefulness to your father. Save for his pride, I doubt he would care if I left. If I stay he may find an alternate means to rid himself of me. Once you and Murchad are gone I have nothing left to lose. If I can find a way… I promise to seek your Uncle. With my jewels I might be able to bribe one of the softer guards to help me. The prices those baubles would be more than enough for a man to begin anew in another place, one might be amenable."

"Perhaps we can see if Murchad could broker a deal. He has had time to observe the guards. Perhaps he can find one sick enough of this place that would be willing to exchange his rusty armor for a richer tunic." I suggested, just as a knock sounded at the door and caused me to jump, startled.

Murchad was ushered in by a guard who remained without and closed the door behind him and we got to our feet to hastily embrace him as he spoke, "I have not long. I have been sent to inform you, Mae, the wind breathes fair enough that we will leave on the morrow so we can reach Swidden before snow comes. Your fiancé is anxious to return to his men, but there is more. Ser Sellose and the woman are to be remitted into his custody to ensure your continued cooperation."

"Why would he even consider that?" I fumed, forgetting some of my recent complacency.

Murchad hung his head slightly, looking discomfited, "I suggested it, Mae."

I have never come so close to shaking him as I was in that moment, "What demon possessed you, Murchad, that you would work such evil."

"It was not my idea," he explained, trying to calm my ire, "Ser Sellose requested that I try to arrange it with Father and Manning."

I groaned at this, "The man must be unhinged!"

"I greatly doubt that," Murchad replied, "and he seemed quite improved when I saw him not more than an hour ago. You are a wonder, Mae."

"Quite wondrous," I retorted tartly, "I indirectly caused the man to undergo torture and yet he feels the need to follow me to the Gates of the Black City, itself. Will my bastard betrothed and my aberrant parent allow the man a litter or will they have him dragged behind the horses?"

"There will be a cart for them, but he and the woman will be in shackles. There will be very little chance of escape with a party so armed with Templars. Father is hoping the journey will kill him and Manning is hoping he will survive long enough to serve penance. If I did not know better, I would wonder if the two of them have a wager." He explained this, cringing as I glowered at him, "Do not execute the messenger, Mae. I can only do so much, bound as I am."

This softened me, "I know, Mouse. You have done more than I would have thought able. There is one last kindness I would ask of you on our mother's behalf."

Murchad nodded to Mother, "Anything!"

"See if you can find a guard who might be willing to be bribed into taking her to Herfirien once we are gone from this place. She has jewels of great value and it might be enough to purchase a greedy man's conscience."

"Done," Murchad agreed quickly, "I think I know of such a man. His brother died recently when a horse was spooked and the man is very superstitious. What Father has done by banishing the Chantry has put many of the men on edge. He would willingly leave this place far behind if given enough incentive. I shall make arrangements. Now I must go before they become suspicious"

"Thank you!" I breathed.

"Happy Natal Day, Sister," my brother whispered before escaping to the door, "I wish I could offer you freedom as easily as my well wishes."

"If wishes were horses…" I muttered, but smiled anyway for the kind intent.

Mother took my hand and stood by me silently a moment before saying, "A year from now the world will be different, Mae. Perhaps there will be peace ahead."

"Peace has a price, as does everything else," I stated flatly, "I will take death if it could buy you all some measure of that liquor."

"I would not accept it at such a price," she cried, and I regretted my words for causing her distress.

"If a story can give hope, perhaps it can also give wings. Maybe Lady Carys' legacy was more than a tale and a curse. We must make our own wings now." I soothed, guiding Mother to a bed so that she could sit and take her ease.

* * *

_This chapter was written in honor of KCousland's birthday. I hope your day was full of happiness and shared with those you love. You have been a wonderful friend on this journey and I doubt I would have gotten this far without your encouragement!_


	52. Interlude 17: The Cult of Maferath

**Interlude 17: The Cult of Maferath**

_Sister Justine of the Denerim Chantry_

Recent discoveries of documents regarding Maferath illustrate the influence of a little known heretical group that reveres the warlord and human husband to Andraste. While Andrastians vilify him as a traitor and some proponents for the inclusion of the Canticle of Maferath claim Maferath's betrayal was ordained by the Maker and forgiven as a necessary evil, this heretical cult is far more extreme in its support of this controversial figure.

The Cult of Maferath claims that Maferath was the true prophet chosen by the Maker to liberate the peoples of Thedas from the control of Tevinter and that Andraste had been deceitful, stealing the true regard that Maferath was due for his service to the Maker. The cult itself has even gone so far as to insist that the Andrastian faith perverted the true message of the Maker and enabled a conclave of misguided women to gain undue religious influence in the lives of the populace. They assert that women are not truly capable to shepherd the people to the Maker, as they are naturally drawn to sin and impurity.

As recorded by Grandmaster Leonitus of the Order of Maferath, _"To follow a woman is similar to allowing a blind man to lead one across a rickety bridge over a precipice. However a blind man may be preferable to a deceitful woman. While the blind man might innocently cause you to stumble by accident, despite his best intentions, a woman will push a luckless traveler over the edge for her own gain, snatching his purse in the process."_

Interestingly, the cult claims that the Canticle of Maferath is fraudulent and was probably written by a misguided Andrastian, trying to undermine Maferath's stand. Cult doctrine insists that Maferath's abandonment of Andraste was not a betrayal, but an attempt by Maferath to remove a false prophetess to ensure no more followers would be swayed by her in her bid for power. By having Andraste sacrificed, Maferath was selflessly giving his wife over to the bounds of her human sin and enabling her to be purified by the flame and death. It was a final act of love to save the woman who had ultimately betrayed him with her lust for power. They also assert that, through this act, he also saved the people in that her physical blood seeped into the ground and provided a blood price in a bargain for the souls of true believers.

While Andrastians assert that it is only through the Maker's mercy that people are forgiven, the cult of Maferath insists that it is through the works of the faithful, sacrifice and the performance of penance that the children of the Maker will be returned to the Maker's side. There are some cult members believed to have gone so far as to torture those they consider to be wayward in an attempt to _"purify them through pain"_ or perform human sacrifice by burning, though there is no definitive evidence to prove this. Any actions taken by the Maferathian faithful are deemed to be necessary to prepare the world for the return of the Maker.

Women have no role within the cult's hierarchy, since it is believed that women will taint and misguide the faithful through deceit. It is taught among members that it is the place of women to silently serve as helpmeets for men and must not meant to teach, direct, correct or question any man's dictate. It is through husbands, fathers and brothers that women will be justified before the Maker through meek obedience.

The Cult of Maferath has no tolerance for mages and magic in any form, unlike the Chantry which sanctions the proper housing and enables willing mages to serve others through _"proper execution"_ of supernatural gifts bestowed by the Maker to benefit mankind. In most cases, cult members will execute suspected mages based on hearsay alone and without proper investigation, claiming that in the event of a mistaken execution, the recipient has been returned to the Maker through the good intentions of the faithful and have, _"died in service of their betters_."


	53. Chapter 35: Taking Leave

**Chapter 35: Taking Leave**

_Alistair / Alan Sellose_

Ser Manning and his Templars awoke early and one particularly surly specimen of self-righteous idiocy collected Letha and I, removing us from our cell and shoving us down the hall. My head still ached, but the chills had subsided during the night. The weather had apparently bought us enough time for the tea to exert its full effect so that I could heal slightly and ease the fever. The brands were still painful and the way my tunic rubbed against them made me cringe every time I moved. Gritting my teeth, I allowed the Templar to herd us through the estate and into the courtyard.

We were brought to a rough-hewn cart that had been lined with straw; much like our cell had been, though it was not nearly as musty. Once were stood by the cart they clapped us in irons and looped the links through rings attached to the sides of the cart, locking them with a black key. We huddled in the cart, shivering slightly in the chill, Letha rested her head upon my shoulder. I patted her hand reassuringly, hoping her current lucidity would last. She had spent the past few days vacillating between nervousness and disconcerting calm.

"There are things prowling," she had said the previous night.

"What things, Letha," I asked, worried to discover the answer.

She looked at me for a long moment before answering, "Things that would be better to avoid, but we will travel on the morrow farther north where such things are gathering. Now there is something else calling to them, another set of dice is being rattled and hoping to take advantage of the game. Something else is trying to understand the riddles that the tears are akin to."

"Is this something human?" I questioned, remembering the Fade wolf I had stumbled across that had seemed very interested in me and what was happening.

"Mayhap once," she offered, brow furrowed, "but it is human no longer. It carries a different taint, mirroring one within you."

That caused me to start, "You know of my Warden taint?"

She shrugged, "I had no name for it, only that it was a shard of darkness wedged in your gut, though you are more light than darkness. This thing that wishes to enter the game, it carries more darkness than light and it has twisted it."

This did not bode well! What she spoke of sounded like a darkspawn, but the way she described it could not be possible. Darkspawn were beings driven by instinct, honed by the taint to search for the Old Gods buried in the Deep Roads. If there were a darkspawn trying to reason, trying to use the upheaval or drawing things from the Fade, it would imply that it was a darkspawn that could reason. An affinity with the Fade or magic would point to an emissary…but even then, such beings could perform simple magic and I had yet to hear of one able to reason.

The only thing that I knew of that might call to things was an archdemon, but I had not felt one in the vicinity. My nightmares and strange dreams had been puzzling, but they were nothing like the dreams that I had during the Blight. If it were possible that an archdemon was slumbering, making it impossible for me to detect at this time, but it was drawing more than just darkspawn, it might allow it to awaken sooner and cause another Blight. This thought terrified me, knowing that another Blight in Ferelden right on the heels of this past one could potentially wipe out the kingdom and make the land as barren as the Anderfels. Thoughts of the tainted and barren fields in Lothering haunted my mind, dogging my peace. It would be years before that land would fully recover; it could not withstand another blow.

With these thoughts, the words Rian had shared in my dream echoed through my troubled mind, _"…__It is all in ripples, Alistair, like in the face of a great pond when a stone is cast in to disturb the surface. They move outward. Whatever starts in the Cauldron will end in Denerim. You are in the place you need to be in order to address those resulting events and it starts now!"_

I was both a King and a Grey Warden, though I had no ceremonial armor and had been robbed of my sword, I still had a responsibility. If there were darkspawn and potentially an archdemon amassing in the Cauldron, it would require decisive action. I was in a position where I could both send word easily to Orlais and find a way to send word to the Wardens in Vigil's Keep in Amaranthine. However, I needed to get out of this situation first.

"Good news, Letha," I whispered, "we are out of the cell and in the open air."

"Bad news, friend," she replied softly, without a pause, "we might have been safer in the cell."

Her answer had startled me, she was far more alert today than I had ever seen her, but at the same time she was distant, as if she heard something I could not. Refusing to be disparaged, I quipped, "Ah, but in a cell we had not the option to flee or fight the danger. Now, dear Letha, we can ride into its midst with full confidence and jingling irons."

"You jest?" she questioned, seeming confused, the lucidity fading slightly.

"Yes, I jest. If I must face the fire I may as well dare it with my laughter intact." I smirked with a squeeze of her hand.

She blinked at me a moment, but said nothing. I might have been tempted to tease her more to try and coax some kind of response. I found her words, even her fear, more comforting than her sudden spells of empty expression. It was like she was a cloak that has holes in it where the fabric has been hastily torn, leaving jagged bits. There were moments that I feared the lyrium poisoning had stolen fragments of her humanity and those gaps became apparent when she looked at me blankly.

There was a harsh bang as the large main doors into the hall crashed open, the Arl Crewe stepping into the morning dimness, flanked by Ser Manning and another man I did not know. This man was wiry and a hooked nose. He had carrot red hair that resembled some of the few darker strands in the Arl's mostly gray beard. He must be the other brother, Murchad had mentioned something about his eldest brother dying recently, but was prevented from going into detail by his limited time with us.

There was a smug cast in the arl's glance at me, before addressing the guards that stood by the cart, "The irons are secure, I trust?"

"Yes, Arl Crewe!"

"That pleases me, we would not want our two guests falling from their cart and injuring themselves," he chuckled as if he had made a joke and his son guffawed his toadying agreement.

Not long behind them came Svenya, her hand resting on Murchad's arm as he lead her down the stairs and into the courtyard. She seemed so different from the laughing woman I had come to know. Her eyes seemed slightly sunken, as if she had not slept well and she wore a dark black frock, a dark green cloak shielding her from the cold. There was no mask on her face and the pink tendrils of her scars sloped down her cheek which was pale, almost white. For a moment I caught her eye as she descended and her previously emotionless expression looked pained.

"Can no one here spare a blanket for them?" she queried in the direction of her father.

"They have been afforded a means of travel," her father answered without looking at her, "I feel satisfied in my provision."

"Might I be allowed to wear my mask and change into clothing more fitting for the journey, oh benevolent Father?" she requested further.

"It is fitting that you appear as a lady. To don breeches would be an insult to your breeding. As for your mask, there is no need of it now. All should know you as you are. Your visage speaks of a fine lineage and a Crewe will not rely on flimsy shields." His voice was airy, but bespoke a refusal of discussing it longer.

"Just so, Father," she agreed, before unhooking the green cloak from around her pale throat and marching directly to us in the cart. She carefully spread the fabric across Letha's lap, tucking a small flask of water between us without the guard seeing it. Her eyes caught mine again momentarily, and there was a stubborn set to her jaw. The spark of her still survived.

"Daughter," Crewe's voice held warning, but he seemed unsure of how to proceed.

She shrugged as she returned to where Murchad stood, chewing his lip nervously at Svenya's action, "As you said Father, to cover my dress would be an insult to my breeding. All should see me as I am, receiving full view of the endowments my line has afforded me." This last I assumed made reference to the low neckline and the tight fit of the bodice. Such fashion was currently rampant in Denerim, with many fine ladies distracting the male populace. As if to enunciate her point, she took a deep breath and the goose bumps rose across her pale skin. Even in the cold I could feel my face warm slightly.

"You will catch cold," Ser Manning hissed, though I doubt his concern was over the cold as he himself had visibly reddened as well.

"A true Crewe would not flinch from the cold any more than he would flinch from the flame. I am nothing if not a true Crewe. The world is a cold place and I have long been accustomed to it." She asserted, crossing her arms.

The other brother made a short clucking sound under his breath before stepping forward, removing his own cape, "Be that as it may, my dear sister, this still remains the Cauldron. We would not wish your assets to be frozen. Frostbite tends to diminish value." He tied this cape tightly around her neck with a smile, though his eyes said that he would have preferred to strangle her with the chords, "You are apparently not witty enough to remain warm after all. Would you not agree, Ser Manning?"

The Templar made no other response, but instead stalked sullenly to the horse that the groom brought for him, checking all the buckles and straps, ignoring everyone but the beast that would bear him before heavily climbing into the saddle. The other Templars followed suit, carefully mounting in their heavy armor. A dark mare was brought for Svenya with a side saddle so that she could ride while wearing her dress and Murchad was also brought a horse, which appeared to be an old gray charger that had probably very few winters left, but it still seemed a solid mount.

While climbing onto her horse's back, I could hear Svenya swearing under her breath at being forced to ride in such a fashion. This was the first time I had seen her in a dress and she was visibly disconcerted by it. Whenever I had seen her walk she had strode gracefully, though she had not lost her grace, she seemed to feel she was dressed in false plumes and it irked her. I wondered if all swans had such difficulties adjusting to changes in raiment.

Grateful for the sudden shield my friend had afforded us, I cuddled with Letha beneath its folds. It occurred to me that the cloak smelled vaguely of pressed flowers, smoke and even a little of simple soap. The aroma seemed to fit the wearer and it made me smile, in spite of the cold. There were things that were not going to change, though the outer trappings might be altered.

"She is…odd," Letha observed in a quiet whisper against my ear, wary lest she be heard by the guards.

"How so?" I questioned.

Letha shrugged, seeming unable to string together her thoughts coherently, "Her face does not fit. It seems she is unused to wearing it. Much like your heart does not seem to fit in your chest at times, threatening to fly. Is it so hard to keep hold of such things?"

There was a truth to the words that I could not escape and I felt a lump rise in my throat blocking any witty retort I could devise, so I nodded and turned my gaze back to Svenya.

The Arl clapped his hands impatiently, chafed by his daughter stealing the attention reserved for him and defying him in such a manner that he could not aptly repay, he barked, "I remit my daughter and these persons to your custody, Ser Manning. Guard her well, as she is the tie that binds my house with your order. My son will serve you as loyally as he would serve me or he shall smart for his laxity. Teach him well of your tenets so that he might be enlightened to the broader scope of this world. You have been charged. Bestow cordial greetings to my friend, Arl Boese, and inform him that I continue to work in chorus with him. May the Maker give you strength and succor."

"I accept the charge, Arl Crewe. Your daughter's life is precious to me, as is our pact. I will defend her honor with my life and will take the life of those that would defile her and dishonor you. The Maker bless you and multiply your holdings." Manning recited the words, though they sounded slightly hollow and rehearsed.

The brand over my heart twinged slightly, as if something had been exchanged that I had not caught. A glance at Letha confirmed my impression for she shivered, but not from the cold. There was more to all this than a transfer of people.

Arl Crewe returned to the hall, but his other son lingered a moment longer, slightly bowing to Manning. Manning returned the gesture from atop his steed, but said nothing. The man watched us as we rode through the portcullis and toward the road leading north, away from the estate. I kept sight of the man for a long time and he did not move from the foot of the courtyard stairs the entire time, as if memorizing the retreating figures of our party, calculating what lay ahead of us.

As we travelled, Svenya would cast glances to us to ascertain our comfort and if we were well. Manning, in turn, cast glances at Svenya, appraising her once every passing league. It was obvious he cared not for her well-being, but he was still interested in gauging her responses and humor. Murchad looked nervous the entire morning, glancing at everyone. Letha glanced at none, for she fell asleep in the warm crook of my left arm, though careful not her rest her head upon my branded chest. The soreness kept me from finding sleep myself and I took to recounting the tales Svenya had told me within my own mind, escaping from the stark, pre-winter landscape that surrounded us.

Svenya was right, this world was a cold place, but I doubted any of us were prepared for the storm we were riding into.


	54. Chapter 36: Perceptions of the Addled

**Chapter 36: Perceptions of the Addled**

_Sister Letha of Cloughbark_

On the shoulder of my friend, I rest my head,

with a wound upon his heart,

and consider what it is like to be dead

when the journey makes a new start.

He worries for a woman with a broken face,

vainly pretending not to care

and a demon in armor fears disgrace,

seeing nothing with his blind stare.

The songs of the Chantry are converting in my mind, to bend themselves to fit the sense as it comes to me in fragments. The swaying of the cart has its own melody, and there is a rhythm to my friend's breath.

He knows my name and I seem unable to hold onto his. I only know him as friend. As long as I can remember him as such, he will make sure that I am not lost.

His eyes wander to the woman who gifted me her scent on her green cloak, like loamy soil and rich earth. There is the soft scent of faith underneath, the grace that I recall so well and yet cannot remember where I first encountered it. It has warmth to it and yet she seems so cold, wearing threadbare kindness when I am robed in what she freely shares. The cords of betrayal choke her, but she has strengthened her neck so it has not muted her song. May the Bride see fit to bestow such strength on me when I have need.

The falsest of Templars lusts for her. His eyes burn when they fall upon her, near glowing coals, deep banked, biding eyes. The Fade Water only fuels what consumes him, turning him into a pyre.

When the darkness coalesces at the waning of the day, we find shelter in a ring of trees: a holy ring to be profaned, for circles can only be traced by a steady hand. The Maker is a circle amid the straight lines for mortals. We are all paths; we are all journeys that lead to the Veil. The road has become broken, its cobbles are displaced.

Then there is another, an other. The broken road beckons him, for it is an intriguing chaos. He knows of Fade Water, as his kind holds the memory of a trespass of arrogance in a place where the river flowed freely from a benevolent hand. That trespass poisoned the font, much as the water can poison the bodies of mortals. Most like him only know hunger, but he knows curiosity. Most like him only know instinct, but he knows purpose.

"_There is potential here,"_ the other muses, _"where the Fade is thin and the dreamers wander as freely as the dead."_

I hear him thinking in my head

like I can hear the singing dead,

their hymns the same as beating wings

tugging on me like invisible strings.

Strings, cords, chains, chafing iron.

The song of the creaky cart stops and the armored evil prowls the forest for wood. The chopping echoes and the tree shrieks as it falls. The glow of fire casts shadows across those drawing close to its warmth. It mirrors a memory as it glitters on armor, but is it my memory or hers, for she is equally reluctant to draw near, though she is cold. She shuns the fire and she refuses to trust the men who wield it.

My friend, he longs for her as much as the false one lusts. It is a strange longing that is not based in the body. It is holy in a way equal to the profanity of his rival. They are a balance: point and counterpoint. The inequality is in her regard.

He wants her to speak to him, to give him a soft word, to answer questions, to know her as she is now that part of her is broken. He wants her to know him, now that he is scarred. He longs to confess, to discard his mask so that there is comfort for both.

Her silence is a mask, the last one she might wield. Once a mask protected her softness, now her mask is meant to protect him.

It is a mask,

it is a shield,

it is the task

hiding what is revealed.

My friend wraps the cloak closer around me. He smiles and speaks softly, as much for her ears as for mine, "This is a good cloak. It suits the wearer and will keep you warm. Be at ease."

Kind Eyes tries to bring us food, but his act is blocked by evil armor. It is puzzling to see a fox with kind eyes. The steel is not easily coerced by a bushy tail, but he knows the night is long and even the sword must be sheathed and the steel must sleep. He will wait and will ensure that we are fed.

The night deepens, and one by one the false Templars sleep, though they twitch like cats. Even asleep they hum. Only one remains awake, but his resolve is waning, it is only his cloying paranoia of the silent night. He hears not the hum. He only hears the empty forest. Even the wolves have abandoned their howling. They need no longer speak. They hear the hum.

It is at moments like this that I realize I will never be free. I am as trapped as they, but they think I am their captive. I am simultaneously filled with pity and revulsion, though I refuse to claim either, for I wish to be as my friend sees me. He sees me as salvageable and I want to be saved. There are people who want to save me and the Templars have none but false faith.

Maker be merciful, though they deserve no mercy.

Maker be merciful, though they extend no mercy.

Maker be merciful, for I wish to receive mercy.

Andraste prayed for those who persecuted her, even from the pyre.

I do not want to die for my fragile faith.

Do not be disappointed in me, Mother.

I sought not to abandon you, but my memory abandons me.

It is not my singing that breaks the stillness for once.

A voice rises in the cold, with white misted words. It is sweet to hear and drowns out the hum for a while.

My friend is still, save for the smile that creeps to his lips. It is her voice and it is plenty for him. He gazes at her softly as his arm reaches to encompass me in warmth and protection.

The last Templar dozes, the song bringing solace to his addled soul.

The kind fox creeps from his nest nearer the fire, bearing a loaf and more water. It is enough to warm our stomachs for a time, but he withdraws hastily. The Templar's slumber cannot last, for there are turbulent waters that engulf them. They must wake to catch their breaths, lest they forget.

"_If I could walk the Fade and touch a dreamer's mind…_" the other mutters to himself.

His plans are as fragmented as my thoughts.

The plans of the Falsest Templar all reek of smoke and ruin. He dreams of fire. For him it is not a nightmare, but a sense of consummation.

"_I am sorry," _she whispers.

Her words catch me unaware, for I must have drifted. She hides in a shadow near us, away from the fire, taking advantage of our watch dogs' slumber. Hesitant fingers brush my friend's hand and he snatches at it, hoping to hold on and she struggles slightly.

"_This is my fault," _she insists.

"_Never!"_ he huffs.

"_Never!"_ echoes the Red Knight that haunts them still.

She tries to break free, but to struggle too much would alert our hosts, so she allows him to hold her, if only to appease him and avoid shattering the silence.

He pulls her into the cart with us, robed in night, and we huddle around her to warm her with our light. I stroke her hair and we share with her what she gave us to share. It is safe here, though the safety be borrowed. Kind Eyes watches over us, ready to alert us of danger, for he is wary.

The hum is strong, but they are stronger, though they have not discovered it yet.


	55. Interlude 18: Fly Away

**Interlude 18: Fly Away **

_Fly away, you noble hawk,_

_this is no time to rest your wings_

_amid those who haughty squawk._

_No honor is gained by such things._

_Mayhap you will return_

_to keep our tender bed._

_Until then I alone will yearn_

_and pray peace will pillow your head._

_Gentle knight, take up your sword_

_until the time of battle is done._

_Gentle love, make mute your words_

_until all is lost or won._

_The moon is solitary as she wanes_

_and alone dies her light._

_While darkness reigns_

_you are my sole delight._

_Return to me in brighter days_

_when the fields embrace the spring._

_Return to me in brigher days_

_and I will accept your ring._

_Fly away, to the distant horizon_

_where you will meet your destiny,_

_take the honor my heart relies on_

_and leave your heart safe with me._

_You are mighty of arm,_

_but if your arm should fail,_

_your heart will meet no harm_

_until I return it to you past the Veil._

_**Svenya the Bard**_


	56. Chapter 37: Brandy and Supposed Vice

**Chapter 37: Brandy and Supposed Vice **

_Murchad Crewe_

"Where are you taking that?" barked a gravelly voice, and I turned to face its source, two bowls of hot gruel in my hands.

"The prisoners have not eaten today, and we will have a long day of travel tomorrow…" the words trailed off as I stared into the stony face of the Templar who had questioned me.

The man, after a moment of silence, began to explain to me, "I'm sorry, Arlson, but our standard is not to feed prisoners until we reach Heidrunscap. The fasting during pilgrimage helps to purify the soul and prepare the vessels for the Maker's work."

"I was unaware," I smiled, offering the food to the meaty mitts of the sullen man, "it would be a shame to waste the Maker's bounty. I am certain you can find a way to dispose of this."

The man smirked slightly as he took the proffered food to a nearby tree, seated himself and began to slurp it down, the remnants running down his chin, dripping onto his armor. Part of me prayed that it rusted wherever it dripped. He apparently did not feel the need to purify his own soul through fasting. Rather than speak these thoughts, I resolved to wait until the Templars slept and provide bread to our guests.

The more time I spent in the presence of the Templars, the more I struggled to control my tongue and avoid stating plainly to them that they were cruel, bullying braggarts. Often my jaw hurt from clenching it tight. Even the manner in which Manning eyed my sister made me uneasy. The eyes were hard, but they were dark with something else now and I was often tempted to tell him to avert his gaze.

Mae had been my champion in the face of two older brothers who took joy in cruelty. However the ready rage of my sister displayed also horrified me at times. It was usually foolhardy, often adding unneeded fuel to smoking coals. It had been my belief that I could hide from the wrath until it had passed had seemed safe. Now I found myself missing her self-righteous assertions, knowing we would never be safe again if the Templars had their way.

Mae haunted the edge of the clearing. She was tired and cold, but she would not give Manning the satisfaction of admitting how deeply chilled she had become. Here fingers were nearly blue as she gently rubbed her arms, bundled in Ronan's thin cape. I could vaguely discern the sound of her clenched teeth chattering.

She also pointedly avoided looking at the captive woman and knight. It was plain that Sellose wanted to speak to her, but avoided calling out to her directly. The silence weighed heavily on her, but it was always her way to carry a burden alone and refuse the aid of others though she would readily give aid.

"Lady, you should rest yourself," Manning chided from his place near the fire, attempting to beckon her closer. The fire glittering off his armor made him glow in a manner more menacing than comforting.

Rather than answer outright, she shook her head, opting to pace the edge of the clearing, hoping the movement would warm her blood. Occasionally she would stamp to help relieve the numbness in her limbs. I would have invited her to sit by me, but the answer would have been the same. By showing no favoritism to either me or Sellose she enabled us to be ignored by these bloody minded men.

Since she would not come to me, I had to go to her, "Mae, you need to eat and warm yourself by the fire."

"I will not." She stated flatly.

"You will freeze, Mae!" I implored, though my insistence only managed to irk her further.

"Murchad," she growled low and quietly, "I will not go near a fire set by those men. In an intemperate moment they might decide to cast me on it."

The cold could not dampen the smile that came to my lips, "I doubt many of them have been accused of intemperance."

"Perhaps any who have dared were dispatched," she snipped.

"You always flouted convention, Mae. Manning near combusted this morning when you removed your cloak. He came close to shaking you."

"Part of me hoped he would strike me," she sneered, "I grow sick of his false niceties. The bruises on my arms are proof enough that he has a strong guiding hand. He is worse than father for he feigns gentility on the surface."

I pulled forth a flask from beneath my cloak which contained brandy that I _"borrowed"_ from my father's stores, horded away for his own personal debauches, "If you will not join me by the fire, perhaps this will ease the chill. I know that the Templars would not approve of your brother encouraging strong drink, but that should bring you a measure of pleasure."

"Brandy?" she queried.

I nodded and she probed further, "Father's?"

I smiled.

She stated, "He will miss it." There was ghost of a smile on her lips as she gently took the flask from me and took a drawn out swallow.

"Careful, sister," I warned, "Were you not the one to tell me that drink dulled the wits…."

"…_and make monsters of men_!" She finished this statement when the burning in her throat had passed, before continuing, "Luckily I am no man and the men we travel with believe me to have little wit to lose."

"I believe Ronan said you were not witty enough to remain warm. You have not proved him wrong, dear."

"I have made my living as a fool," she croaked after taking another swig, "being witty is a danger in my profession. I would prefer silent wisdom. Besides the thought of Father being deprived of what he prizes pleases me. I would be tempted to pour it out here in the forest, but it would be a hideous waste."

I reached for the flask to take it back and she relinquished it with an air of reluctance. Her eyes seemed slightly glassy and she allowed another smile, "Thank you, Mouse."

"I have missed you, Mae." I grinned back, securing the flask beneath my cloak.

She nodded, swallowing, struggling to contain her rising emotion that she had been successfully stifling for days. I inwardly questioned my own wisdom in sharing the brandy. Alcohol had the potential to unleash baser responses and if she should lose her temper with Ser Manning, she could invite disaster. At the same time, she could not continue in this fashion. A flame cannot be stifled without destroying it.

As if reading my mind, she reassured me, "I shall behave myself, Mouse. I would not risk you or my friend or that poor woman who has been snared in our misfortune. That will keep me sober."

"You have not called me _`Mouse'_ since we were children, Mae." I recalled.

"Do you recall when that started?" she responded, "You used to hide in the thorn thicket when Ronan or Fendril threatening you. Like a little mouse you would scurry away. I could never do that. If they came after me I would fight. At times I envied your forethought, your ability to find safety."

"But I never became stronger, Mae. Every time I ran, I grew weaker. It got to the point where the only time I felt safe was when I was with you. You protected me. At times it fills me with shame; my own sister had to protect me."

"It is not weak to run from a fight you cannot win," she argued, "I realized that eventually. My fighting only caused my aggressors to turn their fury on other people, innocent people. I ran as surely as you did. I abandoned you and Mother."

"But you came back," I insisted, "I am not sure I could have done that. Give up my freedom, even for you or Mother."

She shook her head sadly, "I am not saintly. I had nothing left to lose and I could no longer continue to live with the guilt over how hastily I left, leaving you behind to face Father's wrath. For years I dreamed of the words I spat like venom at Mother that last night. I should have taken you with me. I should never have left the two of you to Father's mercy."

"He spent his wrath in searching for you, Mae," I reassured her, "he was no worse on your leaving. He would have been as he is regardless of your choice."

"I am an ill omen, Mouse. I bring not but evil on those I strive to help."

"Not I, Mae!" I grinned, taking a moment to playfully tug a stray tress that had loosened from her braid, "You only brought me joy. Any evil we meet now is not of your making. It is vain to believe otherwise."

"Go, Murchad," she urged me, gently nudging me away from her, "I need to meditate and I do not wish those men to eavesdrop on our exchange. I have had enough of talk now. Let me breathe alone so that I might clear the muddle of my memories that you have re-awakened."

I complied with her request, giving her hair one last tug, and returning to my blanket by the fire, but I continued to watch her. The brandy had softened her countenance and she seemed to internally argue with herself, her face a varied wash of emotions as she sorted through the omnibus of her thoughts. She was so lovely and graceful in her expressiveness, at times fluttering her hands, touching the pendant at her throat with a disdainful frown or pensively twirling a loose strand of hair. She finally cast a glance in the direction of Sellose and seemed close to smiling, but it was a look simultaneously tempered with sadness and regret.

The Templars began a mass drift into slumber, as if in chorus. Within moments most of their eyes fluttered shut and their breathing became even. Some snored in long, rasping stutters. Even Manning became still and his alert eyes drooped to full lids.

Only one resisted the full of the Fade. He had been the most noticeably nervous during the journey. He glanced about as if he expected the shadows to take solid form and attack. With the escalating oddities in the Cauldron, I could not fault his fear. It made me ill at ease as well.

At this moment, Mae chose to sing. It was sweeter than I remembered and fit the sense of longing and sadness that pervaded her being since her return. It made me wonder if she sang of the man who died to defend her or if it was due to the man who sat transfixed mere feet away from where she stood, huddled with the frail woman to keep warm since the Templars shared their fire with them as readily as they shared food.

The final Templar drifted with the balm of her song, so soothing was it. He seemed like a small child finally finding rest.

When the last of the guards were safely unaware, I pulled a loaf from among the provisions, quickly bringing it to Sellose and the woman. The fear of the sudden waking of humorless Templars caused me to be quick and abrupt in my delivery, but Sellose seemed to not hold it against me.

As relieved as I was to be free of Templar scrutiny, we could not all sleep. Our band needed a pair of wary eyes, and I was all there was left. The thought of being caught unaware by those more malicious than the monsters I travelled with seemed unlikely, but tales are told of things that wander the Cauldron, inhuman things that could rend flesh.

I was not the only one who took advantage of the Templars' slumber. Mae crept to the cart hesitantly. I knew how she despised the thought of someone eavesdropping upon her in an emotionally unguarded moment, but my curiosity to hear them overwhelmed me. I wanted to know what was between my sister and the man she sacrificed her freedom to save.

Her mouth moved a moment before the sound exuded forth, as if unable to force words to meet what she desired. She settled on, _"I am sorry." _The words were a rasping whisper, scraping across her carefully tended scabs covering the wounds from the previous weeks.

He started, as if he had not expected her to speak, but the look on his face communicated his understanding of how those words bled my sister within. She had reached out to touch his hand but seemed to immediately think better of the action and began to withdraw, but his hand was quicker. He grasped he shaky fingers, not harshly but in a sure grip that prevented her retreat.

His action startled her and she almost struggled to free herself, but it is only the struggle you would notice with the fluttering wings of a moth while it dances closer to the flame. To do more might have alerted the Templars, waking them to resume their stony watchfulness and the moment would end, perhaps in violence.

Her face was raw with the brandy freed emotions she had denied, and there was a stumbling argument that tumbled from her lips. A reason he should have released her and rejected her_, "This is my fault."_

She believed it; she honestly believed what she said, thinking it was reason enough for this man to spit on her, revile her and regret having ever known her. He, however, did not believe the words. He knew better.

"_Never!"_

The single word was decisive, a word of a man who would not yield, so she had to yield or she would have had to fight to free herself. My sister, I suspected, had long tired of fighting.

There are worse things than to surrender to one you trust.

He pulled her into his arms, drawing her into the straw of the cart, flanked by the gentle woman who proceeded to croon to my sister and stroke her hair. Between the three of them, I was confident that my sister would not be in danger of freezing. She was safer with them than with the Templars, I suspected.

I kept alert, planning to awaken and encourage Mae to take her leave of them before the Templars became aware, but I was content. Sleep was a luxury the cautious could ill afford.

The hours passed and the camp slept, even with my best intentions I began to drift into fitful sleep, incessantly interrupted by my waking mind, trying to keep me from completely succumbing. My sister needed my eyes and senses.

A single man, however is not meant to remain awake an entire night without consequences.

* * *

I felt the threat approach before my eyes were open. Simultaneously Ser Sellose bolted upright from sleep, a single shout on his lips, "_DARKSPAWN!"_

The Templars staggered to their feet, half-asleep and slowed by the armor that they wore. Without a thought or a "by-your-leave" I snatched the key to the shackles from where Manning had secured them and ran for the cart as the shrieking of the Fade forsaken filled the previously silent darkness.

The click of the shackles could not be heard over the clashing. Sellose had only been freed long enough to push me to the ground as a rude ax whistled through the air where my head had only been moments before. The suddenness left me gasping as Sellose then proceeded to tackle the creature, disarm it and behead it with its own ax. Blood sprayed across me and I shielded my eyes, disoriented. Mae was the one who dragged me to my feet, forcing me to lie down in the cart before scrabbling for a large tree branch to bash anything that came at us.

I had never seen Mae physically fight with anything other than her fists. I was aware she had trained with daggers, since that was deemed far more appropriate for a woman, but she clubbed the beasts savagely. Her face was soon a mask of blood.

I had seen Fendril drill the men and watched men spar, but Fendril had never been as brutal as the monsters that fell upon us. I witnessed one Templar beheaded and another had his legs hacked off in one sweep, leaving him writhing on the ground, crying pitifully before another monster crushed his skull with a hammer.

The world was awash with blood one moment and then it was deadly still again. By that time, the Templars had managed to form ranks and defended one another. No one had bothered to defend the cart or Mae. The men were in a daze when the fiends withdrew, gaping at their butchered brethren. It was probably disconcerting to come into contact with beings far more ruthless than they.

"What were those things?" demanded the superstitious Templar.

"They were darkspawn," Sellose stated, leaning on the axe handle, breathing heavily.

Ser Manning, his blood suddenly seething with being caught unaware, came toe-to-toe with Ser Sellose, resembling a puffed up rooster asserting his dominance, "How would you know?"

Sellose countered the glare with frankness, "I came from Redcliffe in the South, or do you not recall. I have fought more of those monsters than you will ever see during your life, I would wager."

"The Blight is over, why would they attack now?" Manning demanded, eyeing Ser Sellose suspiciously.

"I do not know," Sellose spat back, "there have been raids in Amaranthine since the Blight ended too. They are not dispersing as quickly as we would have expected."

Manning countered, "But we had not had any attacks here, even when the Blight hit its peak…"

Ser Sellose shrugged and that only enraged Manning further. He bellowed, "Who unshackled you?"

"I did!" I immediately claimed, knowing Mae would probably claim it if allowed a breath.

The fuming Templar turned on me, his eyes were violent with his wrath, "You released a prisoner!"

"We needed help and he was far more alert than some of your men at the time. I stand by my decision." I insisted, though some of my courage withered at the stalk as he towered almost a foot over me.

"Never again supersede my authority!" he roared, grabbing the key back from my hand and roughly forcing Ser Sellose back to the cart and into his chains. Ser Sellose offered no resistance, I assume, because the frail woman was still in chains as I had not the time to free her.

"Is that truly necessary?" Mae demanded, furious with Manning for his harshness in his treatment of Sellose, who was probably the only reason we were still alive.

"He is marked for penance," Manning roared, "for all I know, the Maker sent the darkspawn as punishment for allowing him to live. I might have to rectify that."

"Harm him and you break our bargain!" she warned, her voice becoming dangerously low, causing Manning to take a long look at her. Her alabaster skin was speckled with blood spatters, the shoulder of her gown was completely torn away and she gripped the club she had been using in a white knuckled grip. Perhaps he saw nothing else but the straw that clung to her disheveled hair, for that is all he could question.

"Why are your tresses matted with straw?" The question was rasped hoarsely.

Neither her expression nor her tone altered, "I slept in the cart to keep warm."

"Whore!" Manning screeched, "You would debase yourself to sleep in that man's embrace? You would deface my honor to lewdly debauch in the night?"

She crossed her arms as he continued to scream into her open face. The remaining Templars stood dumbfounded, not even tearing their eyes from the spectacle to see to their dead comrades. For a time, Ser Sellose looked on darkly until he confessed, "She did nothing to deserve such insult. She slept and that was all. On my honor as a knight, I never touched her or compromised her virtue."

The man continued ranting, not registering Sellose's claims or choosing to ignore them, bellowing, "You have humiliated me in front of my men. You are my betrothed, almost my wife, and you will conduct yourself in accordance with my wishes until the Maker takes you." The accusing finger came close to brushing her chin, but the man made no move to actually touch her.

For a moment Mae made no acknowledgement. Then she laughed tauntingly, "If my Father ever led you to believe I would ever obey you, the greater fool you. I will never obey you against my better judgment. I will never follow you blindly. Even if I give you no word in response, know that even my silence defies you. You are a man who spoke of carrots and beating horses? Look long, Templar, for not even the threat of physical violence could make me obey my father. Mutilation did not make me more subservient to him. When he finally resorted to threatening others to force my compliance, I eventually ran away with the one he threatened in tow, ensuring that they would NEVER come within his influence again. Eventually you will run out of hostages, eventually you will reach a point where the escalating violence will not be enough… what then?"

The man turned purple, the rage was so deep I felt certain he would strike her and Mae would finally have her wish. It surprised me when he turned on his heel suddenly, and went to his dead men. He would not look at her, but the rage was still there, roiling beneath the surface.

It was decided that the prisoners would be removed from the cart and would have to walk. There were three dead Templars piled into the cart so they could be returned to Heidrunscap for proper funeral rites. Four of the horses were missing, whether they had run off or had been taken by the beasts. The loss of the animals meant that the Templars had to take turns riding the remaining mounts, while others walked on foot and kept the prisoners secure.

The men scrambled to gather together the camp and put as much distance between themselves and that place of death. However, even with the darkspawn attack over, the greater menace remained in our midst.

The deadly resolve of a Templar can be a fearful thing.


	57. Chapter 38: Know Much and Speak Less

Chapter 38: Know Much and Speak Less

_Bruna_

_ In the old stories, mages are revered as wise and often the heroes will turn to them for advice. At the same time, one must be wary with mages. The words from their mouth are at times twisted, regardless of their intentions or purposes. _

We were led by the mage, Morrigan, and her Avvarian guides to a freehold up the side of a cliff and through a cave into a small valley. It was like a bowl in the rock, with at least three spire outcroppings towering above the village. The tribe had arranged a way to scale the spire rocks to periodically keep watch for possible invaders. These natural rock formations created a highly defensible position and it would be difficult for any type of war band to attack en mass through the narrow cavern leading into the valley… or so Ser Grey told me.

"The defenses here are well fortified, which was a wise decision considering this tribe was trying to dissuade Templar raids," he approved as he examined the edge of the village and craned his neck in an attempt to improve his view of the spire rocks, "having a secure position to fall back to and protect women and children is quite wise. If the supplies are plentiful enough, the village could withstand a long siege, much like a castle."

"So these people meet with your approval thus far, Ser Lion?" I queried with a smile.

He waved me off with his good hand, "I was merely appraising what will probably prove to be our staging area. We will probably have to meet with a number of the area war lords… they are referred to as war lords, correct?"

"Leaders are referred to as chieftans, Ser," I corrected him.

"Chieftans…hopefully I will remember that and avoid causing an incident." He cringed, genuinely worried about his new found position.

"Peace, Ser Lion," I counseled him, taking him by the arm, "let Morrigan present us to the chief of this tribe. We will have a better view of how to proceed when we observe the chief's response to us."

He looked down at me from the corner of his eye, "You do not trust the mage."

"Do you?" I returned.

"She seems…sly."

It was gratifying that his impression of the mage coincided with my own. She clearly had a plan of her own and I was not naïve enough to believe she had told us all of it. I wished the woman no ill and for now her purposes were to our advantage, but she wielded powerful magic. If we should become an obstacle instead of a means, how quickly would she turn on us?

* * *

Being an Avvar and raised in the tribe, we had instilled in us a healthy respect for the forces of nature. Very few could wield magic, perhaps one in a generation of children. At a certain point, such persons would have to find their own way and often opted for a solitary existence, living in a hermitage of stone amid the cliffs. It was not that they were not welcome, but tribal life could be distracting and did not afford the same amount of peace necessary for meditation. However, they were never completely cut off from the tribe. These men and women could become gifted in herb lore or runes and if one had need of their talents the tribe knew where to find them.

If a likely candidate presented themselves the "wise one" would take an apprentice. I did not have the same natural ability that mages had to control the elements, but for some reason a "wise woman" related to my tribe saw potential in me. She trained me in herbs, taught me how to locate them and use them in remedies. When my other "abilities" became apparent, she also taught me how to walk the Fade with care.

By the time I had mastered what she had to teach, a true mage child was identified that was in desperate need of training in order to control his immense power. I took my leave of her and returned to living among my tribe, but deep within me I knew a strange craving to wander the Cauldron. It was not that I did not love my people, but I was drawn to a place beyond them and I had no desire to live apart from others.

When I began venturing into the arlings and villages, I discovered that they had need of healers, though they were far more wary of anyone exhibiting these talents. In order to build trust with the people, I began to attend services at the Chantry and discovered the Maker. I learned of Andraste and her sacrifice to help release those enslaved.

For a time I lived in the Chantry in order to learn more about my new found faith. The sisters were friendly with me and through them I was able to discover when there were people in need. At one point the revered mother offered to have me take vows, but I did not feel that was my calling. I stayed on for a little while longer and used my talents to help the flock.

One winter a younger sister fell into a deep slumber and would not wake. The revered mother and the sisters would sit by her night and day, praying and begging guidance from the Maker. I knew that I could reach her using my ability to Fade Walk, but I was afraid. The Chantry taught that a mage's ability to walk in the Fade could open them to demonic possession. I had always been aware that it was dangerous and required concentration, but I had not attempted it since becoming an Andrastian. Wrestling within myself, I held my silence.

The revered mother came to me during a night. She had nearly lost hope, but had felt the nudging of the Maker to find me. It had been revealed to her through a dream that the young sister was trapped and only one gifted could release her from the slumber. The Circle of Denerim was too treacherous a journey to attempt during the winter months. Though I was not a mage, I had a gift that could help that girl and save her.

I confessed to the revered mother my special ability. She agreed to assist me, so we locked ourselves in the room with the young sister. Laying by the girl's side side, I wrapped my focus into my hand using a long strip of linen, while the revered mother steeped the tea I had made and held it to my lips so I could sip it slowly before she lowered me back onto the sleeping pallet. The small granite figure of a badger had been given to me by the wise woman and felt reassuring in my hand and I traced its face with my index finger as I felt myself begin to drift and then sink into the Fade.

The Fade was a waste land. There was no vegetation, just vast dunes and it startled me. Whenever I had walked in the Fade, it had resembled my rocky homeland with trees. It occurred to me that the Fade had altered to fit the mind of the dreamer. The reason for the desolate landscape escaped me and I considered that it might be a clue to why she was trapped.

Closing my eyes, I attuned myself to the sister's distinct tone. It was a sad, piping sound, like a lark that has been closed in a cage. The song tugged on me and drew me in a direction and I followed it for an interminable amount of time, whether it were seconds or days, I could not tell. The song started to become frantic and I found myself running to find her.

When I came upon her, she was immersed up to her shoulders in a sand pit. She was crying and praying, disoriented; unsure of how she had gotten there and how long she had been there. I approached her and began to sink myself so I started shouting at her, trying to get her attention. The more she cried the faster she sank and she was starting to suck me into the mire with her.

Thinking for a moment of how to calm her, I began to sing part of the Chant of Light:

_I shall not be left in desolation in the deserts of despair_

_ For the Maker is a source of life and renewal_

_ And none who He has called will fail to hear Him._

_ Harken to His voice, all you in tribulation,_

_ For your Maker has offered you a new path_

_ And opened doors long thought closed._

_ You have not been shut out or abandoned,_

_ He has offered you His salvation._

_Canticle of Trials 1: 17_

Suddenly, it was as if she could hear me and she turned her tear streaked face, the dust traced thin paths down her cheeks. She was confused to see me there and questioned, "Bruna, you are lost as well?"

"No Sister Mabilia, I was sent to fetch you by Mother Enith. Reach for my hand and I will pull you free." I explained, stretching forth my fingers to encourage her to move toward me.

She began to sob again, "But I am snared. A woman brought me here and said that I was worthy only to fertilize the ground. I am impure and unholy. The Maker cannot want me as his handmaid." With these words she began to sink again.

"Who are you to know what the Maker bids? Who are you to know what the Maker wills? I have seen a hundred, nay, a thousand good works done by your hands in the Maker's name, bringing him glory and bringing comfort to your brethren. You were never meant to be swallowed by this desolation. You were called to serve with a humble heart. Only the proud believe themselves to be worthy and are truly beyond the Maker's reach." I argued the sucking at my lower body, pulling me down, caused my words to gain a keening pitch.

"How do you know?" she cried, choking on the question.

"The Maker revealed to Mother Enith my gift to walk the Fade so that I could reach you. If He did not have a plan for you, would He have sent me all this way?"

Her eyes were filled with disbelief and awe; she sniffled and nodded her head, deciding to accept my reasoning. With some coaxing, I managed to maneuver my body enough to get close to her, reach into the sand, and begin to pull her out. As soon as she chose to believe my words, the sand became more stable and ceased to pull us in. With some rolling and slight shaking, we freed ourselves.

Hand in hand, we walked in the direction that I felt the revered mother as she waited. After walking for a while, I felt the need to stop suddenly and turned around. In the distance, I saw a hulking figure, like a large wolf. Behind this figure swirled mist and the Fade seemed greener, lush.

My curiosity niggled at me, but I had a responsibility and I would not be tempted to venture further. I returned to my task. The sister and I lay upon the ground, side by side, and felt a sudden rising, as if swimming to the surface after diving under water. Simultaneously we sat bolt upright, gasping.

The revered mother jumped to her feet, startled and joyous. She embraced us, kissed our foreheads and praised the Maker all at the same time. If she had been any happier she might have been tempted to dance, though her crooked back and cane had long prevented it.

The sisters of the Chantry did not share my secret, except when they knew of a need. When I finally moved on from the Chantry, the young sister took her final vows. Many years later, she became the Revered Mother of the Cloughbark Chantry.

In the days since word had come that the Chantry had fallen, I had often thought of Mother Mabilia, knowing that she had served the Chantry faithfully and that she had not given up, even with the threat of Templars. These thoughts made my heart simultaneously swell and ache. I pray that she had an easy journey to the place beyond the Veil where the Maker guides his faithful and know I too will find her there when I arrive.

* * *

Morrigan was lovely but lethal. Whatever she had bartered with this tribe, they were as wary of her as we. The hunters that had accompanied her never looked her in the eyes, keeping them safely downcast whenever she addressed them or when they questioned her. It was a common fear that if you could see your reflection in a mage's eyes, they had the option to steal a piece of your soul. The reasoning was that though most wise ones would shun such a practice, it was better to not risk it. A person unafraid of looking a wise one in the eyes either had developed a trust or was unrepentantly arrogant.

Coincidently, I kept my eyes safely averted when I spoke to her, as I had the habit of doing with everyone. I gained far more insight into a person by not looking at them directly. I had already experienced a variety of revelations in regards to Morrigan.

She was not very unlike Mae, in that she used a mask of confidence to hide her insecurities. The lilt in her voice was practiced, to put one at ease, like a serpent lulling a bird into false security. When impatient, she tapped her middle finger against the staff in her hand. Her ears had a near imperceptible twitch, as if she were constantly listening for a voice: one specific voice to interrupt her whenever she spoke. There was an air of waiting with her, and a fear that what she waited for would find her. Whatever she sought was probably something with which to protect herself and I shuddered to think what she needed to protect herself from considering how formidable she had demonstrated herself to be.

"Well, Mountain Mother, have you learned what you wished to observe by watching me so closely?" she purred the question, informing me what I had already known: she was scrutinizing me as deeply as I had been her.

Not one to mince words, I asked bluntly, "What do you run from girl and how do you hope to repel it here?"

Previously her tone held a note of amusement, since she knew I was not a mage and assumed that meant I could not read her like a tome. When she spoke again, it was tersely, "Why are you concerned with my affairs?"

"I am concerned with where you are leading, for at this time I have no choice but to follow. Do not assume, Child, that I will follow blindly. Mage I am not, but neither am I fool." I stated before walking ahead of her.

She was sullenly silent and did not speak directly to me again until the following day.

When she ushered us into the chief's hut, she had regained her apathetic aloofness. She addressed the chief with polite disdain, drawing out all the required niceties of one who felt they were beneath her, but respected it in the same way as a child who has been rehearsed in their execution.

The chief either missed or chose to ignore this, and addressed me first, seeing that I was of his kind and not an outsider like the mage or Ser Grey, "You are welcome among us sister. You keep strange company. Most of our women would not accompany a warrior in the Cauldron these days. We stay close to the mountains to avoid the Templars."

"Though your women might not wander, I have been led to believe that your men are scouting to find the weakness of your enemies. Is it true that you desire to move against the Templars?" I replied.

The man chuckled, "You have been speaking to this mage, then. Have you looked her in the eyes?"

"I could, but I choose not to." I smiled.

"Yes," he nodded, "you are one of us, but you are obviously not just any woman. You are one trained in the wise ways."

"I know some, though I have not all the abilities such a one would possess. I am a Fade Walker, but cannot wield the elements at a whim." I explained to him carefully.

His eyes widened with my words, "You can walk the Fade and locate those lost. We have far more need of you than a mage who can bandy lightning. Some of our number will not wake. The elderly are not nearly as disturbing as the young. Our tribesmen are not the only ones who have been struck by this malady. Two other tribes on a ridge south have sent word seeking one of your talents as well. The last ones known to us that had your gift are gone: one died in the previous winter and another was taken by the Templars."

"How long has this been occurring, Good Father?" I inquired, disconcerted by this news.

"Three moons since," he answered.

"Take me to see one of the afflicted," I demanded.

The chief stood and signaled us to follow him. Ser Grey remained silent, baffled by this turn of events. He had been prepared to discuss war strategies, not examine ill Avvars. He managed to maintain his calm and followed obediently, without complaint.

We were brought to a hut where a young girl lay on a skin. She slept, but she was as still as a board and the only movement she executed was the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Her skin was cool to the touch. They had been regularly helping her to drink water, but she was deteriorating.

"Do you feel it, Mountain Mother?" asked Morrigan.

I knew instantly what she was referring to. There was a low hum emanating from her, just enough to make the back of my jaw ache. It was lyrium.

"She has consumed lyrium," I stated softly.

The chief bowed his head, "I feared as much. We had hoped that by moving higher into the ridge we might be free of the stuff. It had begun to affect our goats at the lower camps. The animals have improved, but my people have not. The water has been poisoned with the stuff."

"How?" demanded Ser Grey, finally finding his voice.

"The Templars," Morrigan spoke, turning to the chief, as if this supported her, "this is why you and your people need to attack them. The longer they dig in that mine, the more of the lyrium leeches into the water that flows through the ground. It is slowly poisoning the Cauldron. Destroy their operation and the water can flow clean again."

"A mine?" My head spinning, the pieces were falling into place, "The Templars are mining lyrium?"

When she turned her eyes to me, I was too disturbed by the words to look away and worry for my soul, "I have gleaned from certain sources, mercenaries much like the one I interrogated in your camp, that the Templars discovered an abandoned thaig close to the surface. They have been mining lyrium there."

"Did they hire dwarves?" Ser Grey puzzled, "Only dwarves can handle and process lyrium."

"You are correct, in a sense. Only dwarves can handle and process lyrium _safely._ Humans and elves can technically do it, but there is a price. Have you not suspected why they are taking people, these Templars claiming a holy mission?" She gazed at him, her eyes cold, "They need workers to provide what they crave."

"That would kill those people," Ser Grey roared in disbelief and disgust.

"Not immediately. The lyrium takes its time. A good or lucky worker could withstand regular exposure for a month…perhaps two. When he is no longer useful, he will die and another will take their place. Perhaps the body is left where it drops, perhaps it is cast down a long shaft. It probably matters not to them." She spoke in empty earnestness, void of emotion. She was stating what she had gleaned, free of the attachment that caused my gut to tie into knots.

I turned to the chief, "I can help your people afflicted, but if the source is not stopped, this will continue to happen. Eventually you will have no higher to climb. You will have to abandon the land of your fathers and forebears. Your children will no longer walk in the shadow of the Mountain Father's home."

The chief was grim; I had confirmed what he feared. It was apparent Morrigan had already imparted this information to him, but he had hoped it was a mistaken notion made by an outsider. Since I, an Avvar, had spoken the same, he could no longer ignore it, "We will have to drive the Templars from their hole. They must not be permitted to continue to poison our water and our land."

Morrigan smiled, triumphant, "Not only have I brought you a Fade Walker, I have brought you something else you require to meet our aim."

"And that would be, Mage?" the chief queried, reluctant to receive any gift from her hand.

She gestured to Ser Grey who stood beside me, "I have brought you a seasoned warrior, skilled in battle with Templar weapons."

The chief turned to Ser Grey and for the first time, actually considered him, "Can you teach my men the skills necessary to drive out these demons in armor?"

Something had happened to Ser Grey since I had first become acquainted with him, some of it was due to his encounter with Letha. Perhaps the girl on the mat had reminded him of her, for upon seeing her, his countenance had grown dark and determined. When Morrigan had originally made the proposal he had seemed reluctant, now the reluctance was gone.

"Aye," he affirmed, and with that one word I could feel the wings of Fate flutter and Morrigan smirked secretly to herself.

_In the old stories, mages are revered as wise and often the heroes will turn to them for advice. At the same time, one must be wary with mages. The words from their mouth are at times twisted, regardless of their intentions or purposes. Mages know much and speak less._


	58. Interlude 19: Never Misses

**Interlude 19: Never Misses**

_Folktale_

Once there was a man named Eochu and as a young boy his father taught him how to use the crossbow. For years he studied and trained and became the best shot in his village. He could shoot a bolt through a stag's eye at a thousand yards and pin a rabbit to a tree as it ran for its hole. His fame spread and all who knew of him were in awe of his skill.

However, occasionally, he would miss.

Whenever this would happen, he would blame his crossbow. He would claim that the string had lost its torque or the trigger stuck or part of the mechanism had rusted preventing it from shooting aptly. If that happened, he immediately would discard the bow, breaking it into a thousand pieces, and find a new bow that would never miss.

Regardless of how rare such a situation was, it happened enough times that he decided to find the perfect crossbow, a crossbow that never missed.

Bidding goodbye to his family, he went out into the world in search of this magnificent crossbow.

He went to Orlais, visiting the wealthy cities, visiting the great craftsmen that served the Emperor. There he discovered a fabulous crossbow. It was gilded with gold and rune inlays.

Though the crossbow was carefully crafted and lovely, the latch would not catch properly every fifth shot. Eochu was greatly disappointed and in a rage he broke the crossbow over his knee.

Eochu then travelled to Antiva, a country revered for its assassins.

"Surely there must be a crossbow here among the exacting standards of the Crows with which to pierce the hearts of their victims." He thought to himself as he sought out the greatest bowyer, as he surveyed the countryside for weeks.

Eventually he was directed how to find a bowyer who was known to have dealings with the Crows themselves. The bowyer, after much coaxing, presented to Eochu a crossbow that was so finely made, every shot it made was completely silent. The tiller and nock were smooth to the touch. It was light and yet very powerful.

However, after Eochu tested it, he discovered that the crossbow was so light and the trip lever was made of such thin metal, it had the potential to break from the tension of one shot.

Eochu was so disappointed that he was nearly in tears. He handed the crossbow back to the bowyer and immediately left the city without a look back.

The man travelled to many other cities, many countries, from the Free Marches to Tevinter, from Seheron to Par Vollen, until finally he found himself in Rivain. In an isolated village close to the coast, he heard of a crossbow that belonged to a blind seer. This crossbow was purported to never miss, even in a dark room.

He had become accustomed to false reports and had near resigned himself to the thought that he would never find what he sought. Yet, when he heard this news, he felt the spark of hope strike within his chest. Eochu searched until he found the home of the seer and knocked upon her door.

"Who is there?" came a weak, creaking voice from the other side of the heavy door.

"Woman I have searched for years for the perfect crossbow," Eochu explained roughly through the door, "and I have heard tell that you possess such a crossbow…one that never misses. Might I see it?"

The woman replied harshly, "Why would you desire such a bow?"

"Only with such a crossbow could I become the greatest bowman in Thedas," he explained.

"If you are the greatest, you would not require such a crossbow. To be great is to rely on your skill and not on the whims of a soulless weapon," the woman scolded from the other side of the door.

"A great man must have a trustworthy weapon," Eochu argued, "otherwise a flaw in the notch or the cocking ring could cause the bolt to go awry. A faulty weapon can fail when one needs it the most."

"You make excuses! You are not worthy to behold this crossbow." The woman asserted, refusing him entrance.

"Please," he begged, near to falling on his knees in desperation.

After a moment of silence the woman bargained, "Behind my cottage is an old crossbow and an apple tree. Take the crossbow and shoot three apples through the center, knocking them from the tree. Bring me the apples and you will be permitted to see the crossbow."

"Thank you, I will return shortly," Eochu reassured the woman and scurried back to where the crossbow sat upon a stool. A hundred yards beyond stood the tree. He heard the woman move to the window within the house, and chuckled to himself_, "Why does she bother to wait at the window? She cannot see. She will not know when I hit the three apples from the tree."_

With that, he took aim at a slightly green apple from a high branch. It hit perfectly in the center and the apple fell with a soft thud on the grassy ground. He aimed next for an apple nearly pink with the blush of ripening. After the arrow pierced that one, it bounced slightly as it hit the ground.

Finally, he aimed for the third apple, gold with promise. However, this time he merely grazed it to the right, but it was still knocked from the tree. He ran to collect the apples, and on seeing that he had missed, he silently cursed the crossbow, swearing under his breath.

Deciding to hide his failure, Eochu took the apple and forced a bolt through it with his hand and brought the apples back to the door. He knocked three times and the woman answered with her expected query, "Did you shoot through the center of all three apples?"

"I have done as you requested," he lied.

With that, Eochu heard the bolt released from the door before it opened slightly. He gently pushed forward, but on entering he did not find the woman by the door. She had already seated herself in a chair by the fireplace. The cottage was dim and heavy blankets hung by the windows, blocking out the sunlight and the fire cast shadows on the walls.

He brought forward the three apples and gently placed them in the woman's lap. With old, gnarled hands, she gripped the apples, carefully running her fingers over them and took note of the bolts that perfectly pierced each one. She nodded quietly and muttered something under her breath that Eochu did not ken.

"Many men have come here, requesting to see the legendary crossbow. I turn away each one. Yet, every one of them begs at my door and I relent. Every one of them is like those apples on the tree. They may have different colors or they might be shaped differently, but in the end they are all from the same tree. They are all apples." She gently put the apples on a small table next to her chair and lifted her chin toward Eochu, as if she could actually see him. She extended a boney finger with swollen joints toward him and her voice was cold, "They all lie, just like you did."

"No!" He insisted.

She shook her head, "My sight may be gone, but I am not deaf. Whatever gods there be gave me perfect ears to match my faulty eyes. Flawed though I am, I too have perfection. I know the sound of a perfect strike, when the bolt hits the apple cleanly. I also know what the sound of stifled swearing is like when a man misses. You did not make a clean hit with your final shot, but you attempted to fool me and lie because you believed I would know no better."

He hung his head a moment before trying to state, "The crossbow, the crossbow was old and its balance was off. I could not make the hit because of a flawed weapon."

"Bah!" she sputtered, "Take responsibility: _you_ missed the apple and not the old crossbow. You are the one who is flawed. A flaw might be forgiven, but not when the person boasts perfection like a base hypocrite."

"Please, I must see the crossbow that never misses. I must possess it." He insisted, not heeding the woman's words.

"You only think you do. In truth you will never wish to see this crossbow." She stated, her voice becoming soft.

He shook his head, "No, I know what I desire! I must see the crossbow. I promise that I am not like the others. I am different!"

The woman sighed, and carefully picked up a bundle wrapped in a rich red cloth and tied with twine. Though her hands were twisted with age, they nimbly untied the knots that secured the veil over the weapon and when the firelight danced over the polished wood of the crossbow, it gleamed.

Eochu stood across the room as a man transfixed. It was perfect in every way imaginable and obviously had been well cared for by the woman. He spoke up, "How much would I have to pay in order to buy the crossbow?"

"Oh, it is not for sale," the woman reassured him, "but there is a price."

"What do you mean," he puzzled.

She carefully slid a bolt along the polished tiller and nocked it. There was an audible click as the latch caught and the bolt was cocked, "This is an enchanted crossbow. It has been my family's responsibility to guard it. There is one guardian named each generation. My family always knew who was destined to be the next guardian, for the crossbow guardian is always born blind. The crossbow itself was an evil gift from a jealous demon. Any who laid eyes on the bow were destined to be shot and killed by it. This crossbow never misses, even though the one holding it is blind."

Realization reached the heart of Eochu, just as the bolt released. It pierced his heart like an apple and he fell to the floor, killed instantly.

"They are all the same," muttered the woman sadly as she wrapped the crossbow back into its cloth, tying each not with care before standing up in order to gently place the weapon in its case.

Once there was a man…


	59. Chapter 39: Masquerade Rhymes with Fade

**Masquerade Rhymes with Fade**

_**Alistair/Ser Sellose**_

It was another one of those dreams.

You think as a Grey Warden I would be accustomed to bad dreams, but mainly Wardens dream of darkspawn and shrieks and genlockes and ogres and, if it were during a Blight, huge hulking Archdemons screaming in your brain, trying to draw you to it along with the rest of the damn horde. Those dreams I could handle. Those dreams were familiar, comforting almost in their familiarity. As odd as it sounds, I missed those dreams. I knew what to expect and what they portended.

Since coming to the Cauldron, those dreams had disappeared, replaced by dreams that were far more disturbing to me since they were more than regular dreams of cheese or pie and less obvious in their purpose.

First of all we had the masked ladies, who I have _affectionately _dubbed Lady Black, Lady White and Lady Dappled to suit their cloaks. They never spoke straight to the purpose, only in sing-song riddles, far worse than Flemeth had been. Though they seemed to be benign, I kept waiting for them to turn into dragons or demons or whatever else you could expect in the Fade. Occasionally they would appear to offer neutral natured assistance and I would reluctantly accept it, since I truly had no other choice.

Second, we had my doppelganger. He was pleasant enough, but he always perceived things that I could not see. I got the feeling that he had the whole picture when I was only looking at a fraction of it. His sense of cheerful, playfulness also irked me. It reminded me too much of the man I was before the Blight and before my losses had taken hold of me. He was not naïve, but his view was much more simplified, as if there were no complicating factors to consider. Whenever he spoke it was difficult to take him seriously and I had to question if I could truly trust him.

The implication would be that I am not entirely sure I can trust _myself._

Thirdly, we have the dead that I thought I had buried. Tabris appeared once, and Rian as well. Those cut deeper than the other two. I trust their shades far more than the other dream denizens, but at the same time it makes me feel their loss far more acutely, though I try to maintain my focus elsewhere. Either they still hold me or, perhaps, I still hold them.

I do not even want to consider the other things that haunt my dreams: the talking monster wolf or the evil patchwork Svenya. Those are true horrors that can appear at random and I cannot reason them away as extensions of my disturbed mind. They are not of me and I know they are dangerous.

At times I fear my dreams will unhinge me.

* * *

Once Svenya was safely bedded in the cart with me and Letha, sleeping in my arms with soft, even breaths, I finally allowed myself some measure of sleep. My worry for her had kept me wakeful.

I had always suspected she wore a mask of strength and fearlessness, even though her physical mask was gone, and it had been suddenly stripped away for me that night when she approached us, apologizing for the sins of the world that she had tied to her shoulders and which were not hers to claim.

She was so vulnerable and it awoke in me a tenderness that I thought had died and which brought forth that deeper ache which I tried to ignore. We were alike, she and I, in that clumsy kinship we had fashioned and I just wanted to protect her, but I was equally sure she would not let me that close. It was that mishmash of her stubborn resistance to authority, her fierce loyalty and her reluctant compassion that made it so hard to ignore her. This was the woman who chose to warn and watch over a retinue of seasoned knights, trying to protect us from treachery when it would have been easier for her to walk away and see to her own affairs. This was the woman who submitted to rescuing ten villagers from a doomed village. This was the woman who faced down a Templar in a darkened wood, unarmed, ready to fly at him to protect complete strangers. This was the woman who gathered berries and snared rabbits to feed those hungry and in her care. This was the only woman to whom Ser Grey would ever willingly yield to and this was the woman whom Ser Forthwind had died to defend. This was the woman who could take on armies and send lesser men flying if she took a mind, inspiring others with her refusal to back down against impossible odds.

Yet she was also the woman, huddled against me in the cold, shivering and vulnerable. This was the woman who had tears in her eyes, apologizing for the losses sustained and feeling them so acutely, not taking them for granted or dubbing them as "necessary losses" but regretting them, desiring forgiveness and feeling like she did not deserve any. This was the woman who sacrificed her freedom to spare my body and my life, allowing her spirit to be broken to the cruelty of men who did not value her. This was the woman who gave up her cloak to a strange woman she did not know and insisted on shivering rather than sit near the fire. This was the woman tied to a brutish Templar who saw her as nothing more than an object and desired her for purposes that I could only assume were less than honorable. This was the woman who felt her scars deeply and it drove her to defend others from the same pain and yet could not make peace with those same scars.

These thoughts made my heart swell and ache. That numbness that I had schooled myself towards was crumbling, but I tried vainly to maintain it. I had learned about the risks of caring too well. This venture portended to be full of loss and I could not survive such loss with my already wounded heart.

A country I could lose, but to lose one who needed me, who relied on me so blindly in trust - that could not be born. That defeating thought beat back the fire of my heart, banking it to embers and filling me with ash.

With these thoughts I fell into slumber.

* * *

_It was an all too familiar scene, putting me immediately on my guard. It was the palace throne room, candelabras blazed, couples swirled in a maze of dancers, paired together, dizzying in their constant rotation. Music swelled, skirts swept in whispers across marble, the hum of polite conversation buzzed like a hive. I stood atop the dais of the throne, overwhelmed by it all and yet distinctly separate, when a figure mounted the stairs to approach me. Once again my doppelganger wore my ceremonial armor and he smirked at me, though he wore a sparse mask that merely ringed his eyes._

"_You are wearing a mask now too," I observed to him, accusingly._

"_It was the one you required I wear," he shrugged, "it is one of your own making. Why are you petulant?"_

"_I am not petulant!" I snapped._

_The doppelganger "tsked" under his breath, "You would think you would be in a better mood considering that this party is for you. What do you desire?"_

"_I desire to be free of this farce… I want my normal dreams back."_

_The doppelganger spoke as one soothing a child, "That comes later, but now you must see to your responsibilities. You must mingle with your guests. A good monarch would do this and you must do this in order to be a good monarch. Arl Eamon would be disappointed if you quailed from being polite to the guests who have gathered to see you. Pick a partner. Dance a few rounds."_

"_I do not dance." I insisted, feeling uneasy again. _

"_Yes you do, or have you forgotten what Svenya said so soon?" the doppelganger laughed._

_My mind recalled the night we had together before the world spun out of control, when she and I danced on pine needles while Ser Grey and Rian watched. Rian laughing at my occasional stumbles with good natured warmth. _

_She had chided me, _"I've seen you dance with mercenaries and bandits, only you do it with a sword. Dancing requires balance, rhythm and maneuverability, just like when you battle or spar. You have to move your feet without looking down and watch your partner. If it helps, picture my waist as your shield and my hand as your sword hilt. Keep your eye on me as you would your opponent and follow my lead."

_Svenya guided me until I could gain control of my clumsy feet and allowed myself to be swept up in the music. __When she had laughed, _"Don't worry, your Majesty, I won't let you fall," _I had believed her. It was so easy to trust her, but I could not trust myself. How could I dance without her, her faith keeping me upright?_

_I half expected to look down and discover that I was not wearing pants. Instead I looked down and saw a red tunic, with a small outline of a sword of mercy embroidered over my right breast in gold floss. I sputtered, "Where did this come from?"_

"_It is what you were wearing when you arrived," the doppelganger observed, his voice edged with building impatience, "Here you dress yourself. Your clothes are your own choices." Without waiting for either assent or argument, he grabbed my wrist in his gauntleted hand and dragged me down the stairs, into the midst of the dancers. Unceremoniously he pushed me into the arms of a dancer and I groped to find a waist and a hand as Svenya had taught me, praying I did not fall on my face._

_It was a moment of swinging before I found the lazy, drifting rhythm of a relatively slow song. When I felt comfortable, I allowed myself to look at the individual I danced with. It was a lady in a lovely gown of gray silk with blue sapphires draping her neck and also set in combs arranged in her auburn hair, swept loosely back from her face. Her mask was a simple white face with a single sapphire tear at the corner of her eye. The eyes through the slit were a gentle green. It was not until I noticed the tapering ears amid her hair that I realized who my partner was._

"_Nerine?"_

"_I was permitted to have the first dance before you must go to the others," she whispered, her voice tender, "I did not know you danced so well."_

"_It is a new development," I admitted, troubled._

_The eyes smiled through the slits in the mask and the voice teased, "That is well. It is a relief that you move on, though you are still dragging your feet, Love."_

_I felt an impatient tapping on my shoulder, signaling that I had to relinquish my partner and join the next. I faltered, trying to hold on to Nerine, but she nodded and glided from my grasp, saying, "Go. The dance goes on. My turn is over."_

_I was swung to another partner, but I kept watching Nerine as a footman in a dark black tunic led her carefully from the floor, the dancing couples parting for her before returning to the rotations, obscuring her from my sight. When I could no longer see her, my attention returned to my feet which moved of their own accord, though the music seemed to have gained in tempo. I finally looked at my partner and was startled to see I was dancing with a man, maybe an inch shorter than I. _

"_Well, this is awkward," I could not help muttering to myself, though none of the other dancers seemed disconcerted, not even my partner._

_My partner was dressed in a suit of armor, but the metal had an unusual scarlet tint. The visor of the helmet concealed the face. When he finally spoke, I was vaguely relieved that it was the familiar voice of a trusted friend, "Thank you, your Majesty. It makes me easier knowing that you did not surrender, that you have determined to fight. Please, look after Svenya. Like you she takes too much upon herself."_

"_I… I will try," I stammered, unsure of what to say._

_Again, the tap on my shoulder signaled that partners were to be switched. Rian released me and strode through the dancers. Once again I watched him retreat until he was obscured. He did not look back, but walked with certainty._

"_You are quite amusing, you know," a feminine voice snapped me back to the dance, forcing me to be attentive, "even the dead seem to readily come to you, bending the rules of the Fade and tugging on the Veil. You inspire such loyalty. Are you worthy of it, little king?"_

_My partner was a woman and her voice revealed maturity. The hair was white that crowned her head and her gown was purple and black. The mask had the outline of a snout resembling that of a dragon and the eyes behind it were violet. _

_ "Do I know you?" I quavered slightly._

_ "Me?" she returned, "Never. No one knows me. No one ever will. I observe. I considered snatching you from the Fade and exacting my revenge, but you are protected here. The spirits do not take kindly to me when I interfere. I am an outsider now. Be aware, though, you are not entirely beyond my reach. None of you are, though some might twist the world and people to make it so."_

_ The tap intervened before I could respond and for once I was grateful for it. I immediately turned to my new partner, not wishing to dwell on her further. _

_ The Black Lady held me in a gentle embrace, her black silk frock simple but elegant and her neck looked unnaturally long for a woman, though graceful. Her mask was trimmed with sweeping ebony feathers that also trailed into her equally back hair, as if the feathers were truly a part of her, "Your heart has been returned, but it is impatient with you. I am not sure that I can blame it. To be both abandoned and ignored by one necessary to one's being is difficult. If you were not shackled to it you might have been tempted to cast it off again. Even my own lord had enough sense to reclaim what was returned."_

_ "You are speaking of the doppelganger, aren't you?" I asked._

_ "He is no doppelganger; he is the part that balances you. He is one of your wings. Without him you cannot fly."_

_ "I do not wish to fly," I claimed._

_ She laughed at that, "Truer words were never spoken, I wager, but you must fly. You are no good to those that you strive to help if you don't."_

_ "Why must I fly?" I demanded_

_ "It is difficult to explain to one with crippled wings," she smiled, "but if you do not fly, you will fall. We cannot force you, but we know the consequences if you do not. The ripples spread wide and that which I love well could be destroyed should you fail. Those I protect have cried to me and you are the only point of influence that might stem the tide of destruction, unite what has been sundered. However you cannot unite others if you remain fractured. You cannot win the battle if you war within yourself."_

_ "I am one man…" I complained._

_ "But you are a good man," she countered, "and a good man can change the world if only to save one of value."_

_ The interrupting tap came again and I was thrown to another dance partner, this time it was the White Lady. She was more petite than my dark partner. Her gown was white linen, not ornate, and belted loosely at her waist with a leather girdle, cinched by pale green laces. Her mask was also trimmed with feathers, though these were white and they did not blend into her pale blond hair. She is the one who chided, "Peace, you are too angry, Alistair!"_

_ "I am being thrown about, dancing to meet another's desire, and you wonder about my being angry? Why should I not be angry?" I growled._

_ "What do you desire, then?" she queried._

_ The question almost made me stumble, I was so startled. I was ready to rail against being forced into all this, and yet I really did not know what I actually desired. If I did not want this, I should at least be aware of what I did want. If I had to fight against something, I should at least know what I was fighting for._

_ She did not speak the rest of the time we spun, just allowed me to brood and ponder over her question. She did not even demand an answer, even when the inevitable tap took me from her hands and placed me in the hands of another. The transitions between partners had become seamless. I was one with the whirl of the dance, like the flowing of a current._

_ I had half expected to meet the mask of the Dappled Lady, but it was not her. Instead, it was an elven woman with blond hair. She was not dressed formally with the others, but wore scarlet mage's robes, similar to the ones I remembered Wynne wearing when I travelled with her. Her mask was divided in half between black and white, between a smile and a frown. She peered at me thoughtfully through her mask and kept her head level._

_ We danced in complete silence and it disturbed me far more than the conversation and needling of my previous partners. She watched me, looking deeply into my eyes and said nothing. Finally I could bear it no longer, and reverted to the practiced niceties that Eamon had drilled into me, "Quite a nice party, do you not agree?"_

_ "You remind me so much of your father," the woman chuckled, though the words had a distinctly Orlesian lilt, similar to Lelianna's, "he did not deal well with uncomfortable silences, either."_

_ "You knew my father?" I choked, confused._

_ "Yes," she inclined her head slightly._

_ "Have you been at court?" I probed, trying to wrack my brain to figure out who she could be, "Have I met you?"_

_ "You knew me long ago, though briefly, but I was never at court. I met your father when he guided me and a group of other Grey Wardens through the deep roads. We became friends during that journey and he earned my trust. He was a good man, though I think he rued what he had to sacrifice and the loneliness he deemed necessary to keep the country stable. He always wondered if it had been worth it," she explained, "We confided in each other, we comforted each other. Perhaps we loved each other in a fashion, not the same as previous loves, but it was still a sort of love. It had its own place in a shared heart."_

_ "You were a Grey Warden? Who are you?" I demanded, starting to fill with panic, itching with the temptation to tear the mask from her face so that I might see her clearly and yet simultaneously frightened to do so._

_ Instead of answering my question, she warned, "Do not become a ghost of regret, my son. Do not surrender to despair. You were meant for more than petty power. I wanted more for you than that. You were meant to be more than the sum of regrets inherent of your lineage."_

_ With that she released me, pushing me into another dancer, and she disappeared. I found myself in the arms of another man, wearing the armor of a Warden Commander, his visor, like Rian's, was obscuring his face, "You were always spirited, Alistair!"_

_ "Duncan?" I gasped, the music swelled, the tempo leapt another notch and we swirled faster._

_ "That is what I believed would make you a good Warden, even spurring me to defy that angry Revered Mother who brow beat me when I conscripted you. I chose you, not for your history, but for your potential. I knew that to leave you as a Templar would be a betrayal of who you truly were and would doom you to a slow death." He shook his head, "It would have also been a betrayal of what I promised."_

_ "You promised something?" I questioned, "You made a promise regarding me? When you saw me at the Chantry it was not the first time you had seen me, was it?" _

_ Inwardly I was cursing myself. Of course he had known me before I had been trained to become a Templar. Of course there was more to him conscripting me than just my abilities. I was clumsy and irreverent. I was snarky, though I tried to be polite and obedient. I just wanted something, someone to believe in. When he appeared I knew to trust him because he was vaguely familiar, even though I believed it was because he reminded me of Arl Eamon. Maker, what a dunce I was._

_ "Do not judge yourself harshly," Duncan stated, "You always were so critical of yourself. You always felt you were not good enough. I should have intervened sooner, but I had hoped to help guide you. Then I was taken from you too soon, but it was necessary. I was not how you saw me. You did not see my flaws, and in time you would have resented me for them. Forgive me for failing you."_

_ "But I failed you!" I insisted, "I was not with you when you needed me. After you were gone I could not bring myself to continue without you. You were so much better than me. You were so much more deserving than me. If it had not been for Nerine, we would have failed."_

_ "You sell your own contributions short. Do you think she would have sacrificed herself if she had not felt you could lead the people? Do you think I would have sent you to the Tower of Ishal if I thought you were meant to fall at my side, along with your brother? Who do you think recommended that last moment arrangement? Who do you think put you out of harm's way? I did not want to deceive you, but I knew you would not leave me to my fate, not if you believed you might save me. I had felt my death upon me for some time, as you well knew since I confided my nightmares to you when I confided them to no other. My death was my own, just as your life is your own."_

_ He then gave me a gentle shove away from him and I was in the arms of another partner, this one was garbed in Templar armor. His fingers crushed my hand in a vice of pain. He pushed me before him, leading me around and around. The music once again built in tempo, but started to sound discordant, as if the musicians could not keep up with themselves and were chasing their own instruments to regain control._

_ "Am I what you want to surrender these people to?" demanded the man under the helmet harshly, tilting towards my own face, "Would it not be easier to accept the inevitable? Allow the Cauldron to fall, concern yourself with matters closer to the throne. What are these little scattered, distant freeholds to you? They might as well be a part of Orlais."_

_ "No," I shouted, my ire building with the music, "I will not let you destroy these people. I will not let your blind ambition harm anyone."_

_ Though I had no way to defend myself against him in an even fight, I drew back my arm and swung at him. I must have caught him off-guard and off-balance, for he crashed to the floor, his helmet falling from his face. _

_I had expected to see someone like Manning, but the visage of the prone man was one I shared. The rest of the dancers had stopped suddenly, creating a ring about us and I stared down in disgust at yet another doppelganger. This one scowled up at me, but his entire eyes were empty and black. His cheek was burned with an angry red scar under his left eye and his features were hard, making him look old._

_My friendly doppelganger pushed his way through the crowd and to my side, also looking down at the man, "This is also you, this is also what your potential could drive you to be, this is what happens when you banish your heart and embrace harsh action with no consideration of others."_

_My heart lodged in my throat, and I shook my head. Placing my hands over my ears and closing my eyes, much like I did when I was a young boy, I screamed, "Stop it! Stop it! I have had enough!"_

_ It was then that a gentle but firm grip pulled my hands away from my head, and I opened my eyes to see a small woman with pale blond hair in the robes of the Chantry. The mask was a pale gold, edged in orange, but it obscured none of her face, barely ringing her eyes. The mouth smiled shyly and whispered, "Friend?"_

_ "Letha? You are here too?" I ventured through dry lips, with a clumsy tongue, "How is this possible?"_

_ "You ask too many questions that trouble your heart. Accept it for what it is. The threads have unraveled enough that I might be in two places at once as needed, though this cannot last. Be comforted. There are things that lie ahead and my time to walk with you becomes thin."_

_ "No!" I grabbed her by the shoulders and hugged her to me, "I need to save you. I need to help you. I will not abandon you."_

_ She spoke the words into my chest, "It is not your destiny to save us all, but I will not be lost. Keep faith in me, as I keep faith in you. The road is longer than I can tread, the crossroads approach and you will be torn and must remain vigilant. You must find the poison. You must thwart the perversions of men. You must walk in the dark and find the other side. You must face the beast who is a man and the beast who strives to become a man. Both manipulate and abuse to suit their ends, frayed sanities shaping their choices. One will fall, one will flee and you will have to decide your role. Awaken! The darkness closes in."_

* * *

I felt the darkspawn before I opened my eyes, crying a warning to the slumberring camp. Murchad was alert before the others and swiped the shackle keys to set me loose seconds before a hurlocke nearly decapitated him. I saw the blow coming and pushed him down, throwing myself at the beast and killing it with its own weapon.

Svenya, true to her nature, leapt readily to fight at my side and defend both her brother and Letha. She armed herself with a heavy branch, wielding it in a way that would make Ser Grey proud to claim her as a recruit. It reminded me of her analogy of dancing: it was graceful and decisive. I almost wished that I could dance with her again, that she had been one of my partners in the Fade instead of the shades of departed friends and manipulative spirits.

The memory of the other me, the dark Templar aspect of my personality, teased at the edge of my conscience and I felt my teeth grit. I swung at the beasts, allowing the lull of battle to override my rage. I would not be a berserker, I would not be swayed by violence and blood, that was not who I wished to be. The beasts came, I felled them, I protected Letha and Murchad and I relied on Svenya. It gave me a strange sense of completion, of belonging.

When it was over, Ser Manning tried to regain control of the situation, lashing out at his own helplessness, acting as if oblivious of his fallen men. Perhaps he was truly oblivious; perhaps all he could see were the things he desired to control. It reminded me vaguely of Loghain, only seeing his own insecurities, believing everything and everyone else to be expendable in an attempt to assuage his own fears. Maker shield me from such a fate.

Manning was informed by Svenya where she had passed the night, and he automatically assumed her admission meant that she had made love to me. The accusations that sprang from his lips, spewing like vile sewage, startled me so that I could not speak. I listened thunderstruck and felt my hackles begin to rise, like a bear baited. He knew her not. He could not even conceive of the trust and respect I harbored for her. He knew nothing but his own perversions that he foolishly attributed to her.

When I finally re-discovered my voice, he heeded it not at all, "She did nothing to deserve such insult. She slept and that was all. On my honor as a knight, I never touched her or compromised her virtue."

Had I been in possession of my own liberty, I would have challenged him, I would have cast a gauntlet into his face, but I was no fool. Templars are not required to meet an open challenge. By the tenets of the order, they are held to a higher standard: all is done to glorify the Maker and his Bride, even at times to defend the honor of the Chantry as an extention of the Maker's presence in the world. It was illegal to engage in a personal challenge for it compromised one's control, particularly a challenge of a secular nature.

At the same time, I knew that Ser Manning would accept a challenge regardless of his vows, he did not strike me as traditionally pious except in a manner that stroked his own vanity. However, he would dictate the terms, he would find a way avoid an even fight. I had learned from Rian's naive bent of honor that fair fights were not possible with the adversaries that we faced. I had to find another means to defeat my foe.

He continued to rail at Svenya, and if he had struck her I might have been tempted to strangle him with the very chains that bound me, regardless of the consequences. However, it was Svenya's control that eclipsed the false Templar's accusations, with derisive laughter, "If my Father ever led you to believe I would ever obey you, the greater fool you. I will never obey you against my better judgment. I will never follow you blindly. Even if I give you no word in response, know that even my silence defies you... Eventually you will run out of hostages, eventually you will reach a point where the escalating violence will not be enough… what then?"

She was radiant in that moment, probably a match even for the Rebel Queen Moira. Her eyes dared him and he withdrew from the threat of her fire, though he was left smoldering.

I glanced at Letha to find her grinning dumbly at the Templar's defeat, and I recalled what she had said in the Fade, whether it had actually been Letha or a product of my unquiet mind. I placed a finger to my lips, silently counseling her to sober caution. She rewarded me with a mildly confused gaze and then appeared distracted by a crimson leaf fluttering down from a tree to lie in a pool of blood upon the ground, amid the bracken.

We were forced to walk and the road seemed infinitely longer, only delaying the predicted crossroads that I dreaded.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_I wrote much of this chapter in response to the Cheeky Monkeys' Masquerade challenge made by sharem in the beginning of October._


	60. Chapter 40: The Dangling Banner

**Chapter 40: The Dangling Banner**

_**Svenya / Maerwynn Crewe**_

"Damn Templars."

"Damn Templars."

"Damn Templars."

"_I hate Templars."_

My hatred kept me warm, as did my trudging.

"Damn Templars."

"Damn Templars."

"Damn Templars."

I surrendered my horse when Manning forbade me from riding with the woman, Letha.

I had argued that she was so small; it would be no burden on the horse to carry the two of us. She was so frail looking, and her pale blond hair was so fine that it bordered on being thin. Swaddled in my cloak, she looked like a child, unsure, wide eyed, and nervous. I worried whether she could manage to walk so far for another day. We were meant to part company the following day and, from what I remembered, Heidrunscap was another half-day journey, so they would reach it before nightfall of that day, provided no other hardship befell us.

"She is to be tempered by the journey. It prepares her soul for the work of the Maker, just as one beats down the dough to prepare it for baking, so must she withstand this. It enables her to be transformed by her penance, fitting her for a place at His feet. It is a long journey for the unrighteous to reach grace," he spoke, but the tone was sneering.

"It is queer that you make an analogy of baking when I doubt you have ever done something so rewarding." With that I stopped my horse suddenly and dismounted, "Considering how little grace I have and beatings do not seem to work in preparing me either, it would benefit me to walk to achieve so noble an end. The woman can take my place on the horse and I will walk some of her penance."

"You misunderstand me," Manning hissed, grabbing the horse by the reigns, jerking them painfully so that the poor beast whinnied in discomfort, _"she will not ride."_

"Then you will understand me, if she does not ride then I shall not ride. I have walked rougher roads than this without the luxury of a horse. The Maker will judge between you and me, Ser. Be wary, like your brethren on the cart you may meet Him sooner than expected." I stated.

He straightened and glared down at me haughtily, "Was that a threat, Lady? Such talk is dangerous for the ill-tempered."

"Merely an observation," I clarified in evenly, "for death comes for us all. We live in uncertain times and the Maker sends for some sooner than others."

"That He does," he allowed sourly.

He then galloped to the head of the procession, dragging the poor horse I had been riding in behind his soot black charger: the perfect beast to bear a hollow harbinger of death. Murchad glanced back at me uneasily, but I shrugged and gestured to him that he need not worry.

I took the woman by the hand to both reassure her and keep her close to me. None of the other Templars would dare to bother her in my presence for fear that I might interfere and draw more wrath from their commander. Those that followed concerned themselves with vaguely herding us, keeping us near to the middle, and watching the edges of the road for signs of more darkspawn.

"You sell yourself far short of your worth, Lady," came a soft chiding near my ear. I nearly jumped to find that Ser Sellose had maneuvered himself to walk at my elbow, his chains jingling slightly.

For once I felt oddly flustered, "Pardon?"

"I have seen the grace you were endowed with, for very few of Ser Grey's sparring partners could maneuver with the same level of grace that you possess," grinning suddenly, he added, "I have also had the pleasure of dancing with you. Your grace would put swimming swans to shame."

I disreguarded the compliment with a laugh, "Perhaps you have seen too few swans or mayhap have confused them with geese, your Majesty."

He chuckled, "I am a knight, not a fool. I can tell the difference between a swan and a goose. Swans wear masks, geese do not."

I smiled ruefully, "Perhaps you only knew me as a false swan then, for I am masked no more."

"No, Lady, the mask does not make the swan. It is only a trapping. The swan is what is beneath the mask." He insisted this, his eyes troubled when I glanced at him.

"Do not trouble yourself over such delineations, your Majesty. You speak as a Fool would, and that is my calling, not yours. I cannot allow competition in so narrow a field," I smirked.

"Have we been reduced to squabbling over calling? If we must discuss calling, my graceful Fool, then why call me so formally now? I call what is mine and you call what is yours."

"Then I would be silent, for I have nothing to call mine, save for sodden, stained plumage." I retorted, scanning my clothing that had been torn in the morning struggle. One of the other Templars managed to find a rough tunic in the pack of one of his fallen comrades to throw over my overly exposed skin. It offered more protection than I had previously, though it was still thin, "And these pinions belong to a dead man."

He offered, "If I had anything of worth, I would offer it to you freely."

"So you offer me chains," I scoffed, hooking a link from his shackles with my index finger and giving it a playful jingle as he kept pace beside me.

"You will never have chains with me, for I would sooner liberate you than enslave you," these words were devoid of the previous teasing.

"You are truly a rare bird, your Majesty;" I half-smiled, "for many men I have known would only strive for the opposite."

"Then we are a pair of rare birds. Birds travel in flocks for safety and lone birds do not last long. I will protect you and you can protect me. We will equally divide the care of the chicks between us until they are strong enough to fly without our aid," he nodded toward the woman whose hand I held, "Speaking of which, this is Letha. We had not a chance for proper introductions before."

"From where do you hail, Letha?" I asked, turning a smile to the woman, but she only shook her head, clamping her lips tight, refusing to answer.

My brow furrowed and Sellose explained, "It is better that it not be discussed on this road. I have discovered much amiss here in the Cauldron."

"There has been much amiss for a while," I sighed, trying to give Letha's hand a gentle squeeze, but her own hand began to grip mine tighter. It might have been painfully so had she been stronger, but her fingers trembled slightly. I could only assume that she had been the recipient of some of the unpleasantness that my father created and it made my chest tight.

"What of the rest of our flock? There was one old eagle with a sharp beak that I was particularly interested in. Did he fly back to Redcliffe?" I ventured quietly, hoping not to draw the Templars' attention, fearing they would discern what we discussed.

"I believe you are referring to a griffin: part eagle, _part lion_," Sellose offered lightly, "if that is the case then no. He flew north as well. He is being accompanied by an old owl, quite a wise bird she is and keen of eye."

My breath caught, for I had an inkling of who he referred to, "Why did you all feel the need to fly to me? I only cause people to be snared…"

"No," he barked the interruption, "you carry far too much on your shoulders to claim every calamity."

"You chide and yet I suspect you carry no less," I retorted, mildly annoyed.

Sellose was both balm and injury to me. I felt responsible for his predicament, and yet he would not allow me my share. Ser Lion would have readily outlined my failings, without malice but with a sense of necessity. Bruna would have shrugged her shoulders and refused to argue. Rian would have quietly withdrawn to appease me, though his eyes would state he believed otherwise. Sellose, stubborn, wordy, witty, he would argue. There was no surrender in him and it challenged me to weariness.

"Forget what I said previously, you are a ptarmigan," I groaned, "you are rare only in your stubbornness."

He raised an eyebrow, "Are they so stubborn?"

"They refuse to admit that they do not fly well, so they prefer to walk to hide their failing," I explained tersely, "a ptarmigan is also believed to have discovered a treasure too heavy to carry, but he refused to leave it. Instead he rolled it slowly until he could bring it to the open."

"I think you confuse patience with being stubborn," he disagreed, "some treasures are worth the effort to obtain."

"What treasure do you hope to obtain here," the demand was perhaps harsher than intended, but I was weary, cold and uncomfortable. At this point Sellose's words made me uneasy; his whole manner spoke deference, compassion and odd humor in the face of hardship. His behavior had not really changed since I had met him, but now it seemed to rub me raw, as if without the mask I no longer had a shield against the irritation or I lacked something to callous me. Everything was too sensitive.

"I assure you, Lady, I will inform you when I discover something I wish to claim. I will call it my own in distinct terms."

"Just do not expect me to help you to carry it," I shot back.

He smiled, "Has the swan become so proud now, Lady?"

"I am neither Lady nor swan. You overstep yourself, Ser!" I was becoming angry, unreasonably so, and I could not seem to control it.

"I had thought that I was keeping equal steps with you. Had I overstepped I would be ahead. Here I am. We ptarmigans walk well, or so you have stated." His old teasing was back, whether it was meant to pacify me or it was one of his shifting moods. I refused to look at him further and ignored him pointedly.

We walked this way for a number of hours, side by side, with me refusing to look at him. Even without looking I could feel him, hear his distinct tread on the dirt. Even in angry silence, his presence was safety and welcome. I tried to ignore it by fuming about the Templars, muttering my personal mantra, "Damn Templars," over and over with every step. In truth, I felt like damning myself. Perhaps I already had.

Eventually chastened words sought me out, "Svenya, I had not meant to hurt your feelings or your pride. It has been so long since I could talk to someone as openly as I speak to you, and perhaps I have loosened the reigns on my tongue too far. I will curb it if only to earn your pardon."

It wrung a sigh from me, with a final muttered, "Damn!"

"Was that meant to be directed at me? Have I strayed so far that I am to be damned?" he implored, a smile tugged at his lips though he strove to remain somber.

"If either of us is to be damned, that is my honor," I clarified, "I would not damn you. The Templars have amassed all the damnation I can muster. I can spare you none of it."

"That is a relief. I do not think I could carry the burden of your damnation and a treasure."

We were interrupted by Letha pointing to a point ahead on the road and stating, "Crossroads."

Sellose perceivably went white, "Are you certain, Letha?"

She nodded, her eyes were certain and there was no cowering to her in that moment. Sellose left my side and went to her opposite side, hastily taking her hand so that we formed a little chain, Letha linking the two of us together.

"What does it mean, Letha," Sellose questioned her uneasily.

She looked up at him and suddenly her face seemed empty, devoid of emotion. It was disturbing how she seemed to feel nothing, "It is the time. It unravels carelessly despite my intentions." Only then did something akin to regret creep into her face, "I am sorry, Friend. This is meant to be. I am to be lost again so that I might be found. I am to be a link between. The road goes in many directions; I could not predict where the journey would be drawn, only that the path would fork."

"What is she saying?" I begged, suddenly feeling a sense of rising panic. Holding Letha's hand, I could feel a strangely building hum that made my back teeth buzz and ache. There was more to this and I vaguely recalled some of the old superstitions about crossroads.

Crossroads were places where the barriers between the Fade and the waking world were thin. The Avvars would never camp near a crossroads, for things wandered that might find you in such places. With how strong my dreams had grown in the past month, the thought of being in such a thinned place seemed frightening. Somewhere ahead something tugged much like Manning had tugged the reigns of my horse behind him. I felt the oddest desire to dig in my heels and fight the pull, but there was no choice. The course was set.

We continued to walk until we indeed came to a crossroads, but I could not have predicted who we encountered there: Ronan and a detail of at least five soldiers.

I could not hide how startled and uneasy his presence made me, "Ronan? Did Father send you?"

"Father?" he scoffed, "Father is too enamored with his own petty plans and feels secure enough in his lordship over me that I need not ask his leave. He believes that I am surveying the land to the west and ensuring that the peasantry is solidly under his boot."

"Should you not be about your business, then?" I asked sarcastically.

"Believe me, dear Mae; I am about my business since I have so aptly completed his. Since I had his task in hand I decided to reward myself with a lively jaunt. It was pure chance that led me here in time to meet your retinue," his mocking tone belied his words.

"What are you about, Ronan?" demanded Murchad, his words a bizarre combination of impatience and wariness. He knew as well as I that this boded ill. While Fendril had been brutal, Ronan was cunning and far more dangerous because of his ability to maneuver around obstacles rather than plow through.

"I could ask you the same, little Brother. You were so eager to take my place as liaison and curry favor with Arl Boese. Your clumsy attempts at strengthening your position might accidently unravel all my work that has taken me weeks to arrange. Surely you can see that I could not allow that." He smiled, revealing the teeth behind his lips.

"Stop playing cat, Arlson," growled Manning, "I have had enough of treachery and double speak. At least dealing with your Father and Boese was straight forward. I begin to weary of your wheels."

Ronan approached Manning's charger and gently patted the horse's side with mock affection, "Yet my Father and Boese would keep you collared like a mabari, serving their delusions of grandeur. You chafed at their secular bent, while your goals are divine. I understand you far better than they. Is this the thanks I receive for my pains to liberate you? I can see that you have had unforeseen issues," he gestured to the cart holding the bodies of the Templars who had fallen to darkspawn, "perhaps that is what has soured you to our little ruse. No matter. We must move forward, brave Templar."

"What are you talking about?" I demanded.

My scheming brother cast a glance in my direction, "Is she not everything you hoped for, Ser Manning?"

"Hardly," glared the Templar.

"Then you shall hardly mourn her. That should be a comfort," Ronan teased, "and both of our ends will be met. You shall achieve a sense of immortality and save the world from its divine misjudgments."

The Templar "harrumphed," visibly irked, but not arguing.

"I repeat, `what are you about, _Ronan_?'" Murchad reiterated again, his tone becoming angry, but his eyes bespoke panic that I prayed Ronan could not read, it would only encourage his cruelty like a fox that could smell blood.

"As I said before, I am about my business. You will be about your business, but there will be a slight alteration of the arrangements Father has made. You will go to Heidrunscap and you will have the opportunity to examine the operations there quite closely." He turned his head to address the guards accompanying him, "Take him down from his steed. That beast need not carry him any longer."

The guards came forward, roughly pulling Murchad from his horse. For a moment he was startled, but he then began to struggle against them. It took three of them to subdue him and they clapped him in irons. On seeing him fight their hold, I threw myself onto the nearest one's back, beating the guard with a fist about his ears until yet another guard peeled me off.

"Have you gone mad, Ronan?" I blustered, thrashing like a fish on a hook as the guard circled his arms around my shoulders, pinning my hands helplessly to my sides.

Sellose too tried to come to our aid, but the remaining Templars subdued him, wrestling him to the ground. Ser Manning dismounted impatiently, drew his sword and held it to Sellose's throat, only then did he still. Manning commanded with an air of satisfaction, "Cease your struggling, Lady, or it will go badly for your pet."

I looked at Sellose, stretched upon the ground by hard hands, the sword close to his windpipe, and I remembered Rian, how he so readily threw himself into the fray to defend me. I could not bear to witness another murder such as that and I sagged, feeling boneless in the hard embrace of gauntlets.

"You have grown accustomed to dealing with my sister, I see," chirped Ronan, still watching the tableau unfold, not laying hands on anything other than Manning's horse, "Though I realize that you have no wish to be parted from your bride, I will escort her the rest of the way to Arl Boese's estate and ensure that the state of our affairs have not been altered by unforseen circumstances. You will escort my brother, the woman and the pet to Heidrunscap."

"Father will not take kindly to you interfering," Murchad warned Ronan, shaking off his guards haughtily, but no longer struggling. He jangled his shackles for emphasis.

"Well, I am in no danger of Father finding out from either of you," Ronan again grinned with wide jaws, "For the sake of curiosity, Manning, what befell your men?"

"Darkspawn," Manning stated flatly.

Ronan's eyebrows arched, "Indeed? How curious considering the Blight is so long over. No matter. Manning, after you have reached Heidrunscap, I want you to send word to my father, Arl Crewe, about the attack. Make sure to inform him of my brother's untimely demise at their hands."

"Are you mad?" I exploded, almost pulling away from the guard who held me.

"Mad? No. Eccentric perhaps, but madmen rarely have plans such as mine. They lack vision." He drawled this in a leisurely manner.

"What about me?" I demanded, "How will you prevent me from sending word to Father?"

"In the house of Boese, you will hardly have an opportunity," Ronan explained, "past that, there are other things planned that should occupy your time. However, I believe we have dawdled long enough."

"Agreed!" Manning exhorted. He signaled to his men to form ranks and gather Murchad, along with Sellose and Letha. Letha looked confused and slightly scared. Sellose snarled at one of the Templars who tried to grab her by the elbow. My knight was rewarded with a hard blow to his ribs, causing him to gasp and go to his knees before another Templar roughly dragged him back to his feet. Murchad allowed himself to be lead, though his face was angry.

"Wait!" I shouted, "At least allow me some form of farewell to Murchad."

Manning snorted, but Ronan allowed, "How touching. Who am I to refuse?" He nodded to the guard to release me and I stumbled forward slightly, grasping Murchad to me in a rough embrace, feeling the cold chains through the thin fabric of the tunic I wore.

"Find a way to slip free and run, Mae." He whispered.

"If I run, they will execute you." I hissed, the tears prickling in my throat and making the words hoarse.

"We are dead anyway," he argued, but I shook my head.

I sobbed into my hands and covered my face as I drew away. Turning my attention to Manning, I went to my knees before him, gripping his breeches at the waist and pleaded, "Please, spare my brother. I beg you. The Maker offers blessings upon the merciful."

"As you said, Lady, at times the Maker sends for people sooner than others. He has been chosen to fill penance, surrendered by the righteous." Manning asserted, visibly pleased at my being driven to my knees and humbled before him.

"Can nothing soften your heart?"

Manning boasted, "The Maker made me close to steel. I cannot be swayed when I have seen my duty."

I returned to my feet slowly, throwing myself into my Murchad's arms once again, seeming to stifle my sobbing into an open palm and pulling back reluctantly.

Turning to Sellose, he tried to smile, tried to be comforting in the only means afforded him, "Be well, Lady. Save a dance for me."

My eyes welled up again with scalding tears, but with it seethed a sense of defiance. I turned to my betrothed and he gazed back with a near smug expression and in response I remarked evenly, though my words lisped slightly with emotion, "I believe that I should bid you farewell, Ser. The Maker alone knows when we will meet again."

"It will be soon," he smiled, satisfied in what he perceived to be my wilted state, spurred by the thought of losing my brother.

"Until that time, allow me to leave you with a gift to cherish and hold close to whatever heart you possess," and the words had hardly been uttered when I threw my arms around Ser Sellose's neck, kissing him passionately, lips parted.

For a moment, Sellose stiffened, startled, but it took him a moment to realize what I was doing, and he grabbed my waist, holding me close. My fingers twined into his short hair, holding his head still so that I could have full access to his mouth. If we were all to die, I would give myself completely to this one thing. He had hoped to liberate me, but in this moment, I strove to liberate him in this one action.

The kiss did not last long, for we were promptly rewarded with a roar from Manning. He sprang forward and wrenched me away from Sellose by my hair. The force of it threw me to the ground. He leaned over me, gripped me by the chin, the metal of the gauntlet scraping me, and raved, "You have pushed me beyond patience. You are not worthy for the honor I wish to bestow. You are fouled! You are defiled!"

He drew his hand back to strike and Sellose tried to get to us, but he was restrained by three Templars, who had drawn him away on seeing our display. Manning's eyes had grown dark, near black, but it was as if somewhere deep in their recesses a blue light gleamed, like a burning coal with a hot flame. In that moment I was certain he would kill me.

"Hold your hand, Templar," proclaimed a strong, ringing voice, causing all to turn and examine its source. Letha stood straight, her features seeming to glow and her arm was raised, pointing an extended finger directly at Manning. She was no longer quaking or cowering, but her voice commanded attention and all were stunned as she continued, "You have broken the compact, perverted the calling and sullied what you claimed to serve. You trespassed upon the Maker's seat. You have infected what the Maker has created, poisoning it as surely as you have poisoned yourself. The fire which you dream of wielding will consume you. What you have glutted yourself with will call to those who darkly desire to feast, and you will be enthralled. You shall be shucked, and cast away, for you have cast away the gift that was freely offered to take what you had no right to possess. Heed me, for this is the harbinger of your destruction. The message can only be altered by you."

For a moment Manning gaped at her, stunned, but he recovered and charged her, grabbing her by the throat. I staggered to my feet, attempting to clutch at his arm to try and force him to release her, but he swatted me off, dazing me, and shrieked, "False prophetess! Harlot! Sinner! Defiance of me is defiance of the Divine. You must be made an example of; you must be raised so you may be seen by all! You are not worthy to be cleansed in flames, but will be left to rot. By Maferath I will see it done!"

Murchad and Sellose were restrained by Templars, but they kept fighting, kept struggling until they were beaten into merciful unconscious, unaware of the horror. Meanwhile Ronan gripped me from behind on both shoulders, forcing me to stand by and watch as I squirmed, cursing him and Manning.

Manning called for a rope, tied a hasty noose, and slipped it around her neck. Letha did not resist, but stared him in the eye until he spit on her. Throwing the other end of the rope over a low lying branch, he pulled on it, hoisting her into the air as her feet kicked in the breeze. Her face flushed pink before becoming paler, shifting to a bluer tint, the veins throbbing as she gasped around the rope slowly strangling her.

Somehow I slipped from Ronan's embrace and threw myself onto Manning's back in wild desperation, boxing his ears, scratching his neck, anything to get him to drop the rope; anything to save the fragile woman who was slowly fading as she dangled.

I did not see who struck me, but I fell back hard, hitting the ground, there was a sickening crack. The world softened, becoming shiny at the edges as I looked a moment into the tree branches, saw the outline of Letha swaying, a limp banner of shame. My eyes stung and it all went dark.


	61. Interlude 20: Croesfyrd

_**Interlude 20: **__**Croesfyrd***_

"_Do not invoke the crows in a place between,_

_for they are just and swift in their reckoning._

_Robed in black, they sit in wait upon a high seat_

_and watch for the careless transgression._

_Do not wander where the council should meet_

_unless prepared to make a confession._

_Do not invoke the crows for their memories are deep,_

_and they know all of the secrets that you keep."_

Once there was a man, Sylrok, who had two daughters and no sons. He resented this and when his wife died, he wished to not be saddled with his daughters' care. So he brought them to the crossroads, and sat them at the foot of a large ash tree, instructing them to wait there until he returned for them, though the wicked man had no intention of doing so. He then went off; satisfied that he was free of his responsibility.

The little girls, Branwenn and Perweur, were kind and obedient. They waited dutifully at the tree for their father. Branwenn, the elder by two winters, sang to her little sister and played guessing games, trying her best to stay brave. When the day began to wane and night began to fall, Branwenn challenged her sister to a contest to see which of them to count the most stars. She allowed her sister to win and eventually the younger girl began to drowse and fall asleep, unaware that her sister was sorely afraid, for the night was dark and the wolves would soon prowl.

When Branwenn was certain her sister was asleep, she cried bitter tears that watered the ground, "What is to become of us, with no mother and a father who has left us to the mercy of wolves?" She sobbed these words shortly before she too fell asleep, certain that either wolves or her deep sorrow would prevent her from waking again.

The ash tree drank the girl's tears and heard the girl's lament and was moved with pity. Its roots ranged far and it listened to the ground; its branches stretched high and it listened to the wind; it sought an answer the girls' dilemma. The boughs creaked and sang, beckoning the lords of the crossroads and was rewarded with the flutter of wings.

The crows gathered in the branches and peered down on the two sleeping girls. They worried, and clucked, and cawed among themselves, trying to decide the girls' fate. By the laws of the forest, the girls were weak and therefore fair prey for wolves. The crows in turn were permitted to feast on the scraps left behind. That was the established order of things, however there was another option…

…If a creature chose to foster the girls, offering protection, then none in the forest could do harm unless they first defeated the guardian. The ash tree had sheltered the girls, but had not the ability to meet every need of the children. A second guardian had to be found, one who could feed the girls.

The ash tree again stretched into the breeze, singing and creaking, beckoning a champion for the young girls. Again the tree was rewarded with the flutter of great wings.

A large crane came to roost and he too peered down at the sleeping girls. The crows related to him the case and the great bird was moved with compassion. He swore to the ash and to the crows that he would foster the children and raise them as his own.

The crane was a wise bird and possessed enough magic to spare. He removed his wings, as if removing a great coat, and hung it in the branches of the ash tree for safe keeping. He took on the guise of a thin man and sat down near the girls. The wolves, knowing the old law, stayed away from the crane and his charge.

When morning came, the girls awoke to see the smiling man wearing a white tunic and a scarlet cap, "My dears, you have slept the night on the cold ground. I am Crahin, and I have been sent here to fetch you and bring you home with me. You will be my daughters and I will be your father, and you shall never want for food or kindness as long as I live."

The girls were initially frightened of the strange man, but he was kind and patient. Eventually the girls were coaxed to follow him. He held their little hands in his and he led them to a small reed hut on the edge of a river, deep in the heart of the forest. When the girls became hungry, he would fetch fish from the river and they would cook them over a little fire and eat. When the girls were thirsty, he would fetch a skin of clear river water and they would drink. The hut was comfortable, staying cool in the summer and warm in the winters.

The crane-father also taught the girls to read and he taught them deep knowledge. He was kind to them and, true to his word, came to regard the girls as his daughters and they honored and loved him as a father. Soon all memories of their first father vanished, along with the pain of their abandonment. The girls grew older, wiser and more beautiful with each passing day.

Years later, the girls were laughing and singing near their home, when the local arlson was riding through the forest. He heard them and followed the sound of their voices until he came upon them in a clearing. On seeing them, the arlson was filled with a deep sense of desire and felt that he must possess them. He ran into the clearing to catch them and force them to return with him to his father's home.

The girls on seeing him were very frightened, and they shrieked.

Suddenly a large crane swooped down, barring the youth's path, flapping its wings and squawking angrily, until the young man withdrew and the ladies stole away back into the woods.

The young man was enthralled by the girls' beauty, and he travelled to the nearest village, inquiring if any knew who the girls were and if they had any parents.

Sylrok, who had wandered hither and yon in the intervening years, answerable to none and useful to none, was passing through the village again at this time. He heard the story from the arlson and the description of the girls. He knew that the arlson was wealthy and suspected the girls might be the daughters that he had abandoned, based on the details he heard. He smiled to himself, and considered greedily how he might use the girls to better his position and fill his pockets.

The man told the arlson that he was the girls' father, but they had been separated from him when he lost them in the forest. Since he was the only man who had a true right to the girls, he would be willing to offer them to the arlson for a reasonable sum. The arlson, consumed by his desire, readily agreed to the terms Sylrok stated.

Sylrok then had the arlson lead him to the clearing where the girls had been seen. The greedy man had the arlson wait behind a tree, just out of sight, and then went into the clearing and began to call to the girls by their names, begging them to appear as a kindness to him. He entreated them with sweet words and invoked the memory of their departed mother in hopes that they would be moved to meet with him.

After some time, the girls appeared, but they were not alone. Accompanying them was an old gentleman wearing a bright white tunic and a scarlet hat. He walked slightly ahead of the two girls, as one would do in the hopes of putting oneself between dear ones and danger. Sylrok smiled at the girls, nodding his heads and throwing his arms wide, encouraging them to come and embrace him, but the girls cowered behind their guardian, wary of the man who was no more than a stranger to them now.

When Sylrok saw that the girls would not be swayed by sweet entreaties, he shook his fist at them, calling them cruel and wicked, claiming that they were disrespectful and proud, cursing them for hard-heartedness. The girls cowered further behind their guardian, embracing each other and trembling. The guardian scowled at the man and stood his ground between him and the young ladies.

Finally Sylrok demanded, "I am your father, you are my blood, my children, my property. I have a right to be heard before a council of elders and they will uphold my claim. As my daughters you are required to obey me. Either you must meet my demands or your very lives might be disposed of as I see fit."

"Very well," stated Crahin, having heard enough, "you wish to assert your rights before a council of elders and that is sound. A council will convene at the crossroads beneath the large ash tree tonight at the deep hour. You may plead your complaint before the council, provided you will abide by their judgment."

Certain that the council would rule in his favor, Sylrok eagerly agreed and stormed away back into the woods where the arlson waited. He and the arlson planned to meet at the crossroads and then he would turn custody of the daughters over to the arlson.

That night, the old moon hid her face. The only light at the crossroads was a small fire at the center, casting eerie shadows into the branches of the ash tree. Sylrok arrived carrying a torch, accompanied by the arlson. The two girls arrived with their guardian, looking very afraid.

"I am here to collect what is mine," Sylrok bellowed, sizing up the girls greedily, mentally jingling the gold they would fetch from the arlson within his mind.

"Are you so certain that these girls are yours?" Crahin asked the question mildly.

"Yes! They are my flesh and bone. They were the blood in my limbs. They are the breath in my lungs. They only have being through me and they are mine to embrace or dispose, as any other aspect of my being." Sylrok recited, remembering the words of his fathers and the old tradition of claiming lineage of a child.

"I have acted as guardian for these children. They have nested in my heart and enjoyed the shelter of my wings when you were nowhere to be seen. You have lived as a stranger in their lives. If you claim them, I require a ransom for the time of my devotion," Crahin warned Sylrok.

Thinking that Crahin meant money, Sylrok readily assented figuring that the arlson would help to pay the amount, "Any ransom will be met as a debt of honor requires."

"You are all witnesses," Crahin announced, raising his arms to the outstretched limbs of the ash tree. For the first time, Sylrok saw the crows. They filled the tree branches, rustling with the leaves, and when Crahin appealed to them they cackled in unison. Turning their beady eyes onto Sylrok they stared down at him, watching him.

For the first time Sylrok faltered, swallowing hard, "Whatever gold you require, I will see that you receive it."

"Gold?" Crahin shook his head, "For eight winters I sheltered these girls. Between the two, it is equal to sixteen winters. I ask no less of you, to surrender the time that was lost: sixteen winters and two nights at the crossroads. Then the debt will be paid."

"How can I pay that?" the frightened man demanded, "How can I possibly pay that?"

"Do you relinquish your claim?" Crahin asked.

Sylrok's greed swelled up, choking back his fear, "Never!"

"Then take this ash staff into your hands," Crahin directed, handing an ornately carved staff into the man's hands. Instantly, Sylrok could feel something ebb from him through his fingers. His shoulders became more stooped, in the firelight his hair became grayer, the hands gripping the staff gnarled and spotted; the lines in his face became deep furrows. Then Crahin reclaimed the staff from him, "Now, you have surrendered sixteen years to the ash tree to be distributed to the forest that provided for these two. Now, you only owe two nights to the crossroads."

Sylrok was now frailer, but he straightened up as far as he could despite the slight tremor of his limbs, and made to sit beneath the ash tree, his bones creaking and cracking with shift of his weight. The arlson stepped forward, but the guardian extended his hand, "What is your stake in this, arlson?"

"I have an agreement with the man, and that is between the two of us," the arlson stated haughtily.

"Then you may remain with the old man, but once you have made the commitment you can never turn back," Crahin clarified, "we will return in the morning when the ransom has been paid."

So the arlson joined Sylrok beneath the tree, sword in hand, as the crows stood by as witnesses. Crahin and the girls withdrew into the darkness and away from the crossroads. The night ambled forward and the fire died down to dim, red embers.

No one knows what happened that night, except for the crows, the silent council.

The next morning a peddler walking through the crossroads found two bodies: an old man and a young man. The bodies had no wounds upon them; however the expressions on the men's faces showed unfathomable terror, eyes gaping wide. The village gossips stated that the arl quietly had men come to retrieve the body of his son, but no one came for the old man. No one knew him or remembered him. Since no one claimed him, the people of the village buried the man where they found him, at the side of the crossroads.

There are still stories told of Crahin and his foster daughters. One states that the girls grew older and eventually married men worthy of them, having families of their own. Crahin was honored as grandfather and great-grandfather to their descendants. Other stories state that after their human father had passed away, the daughters embraced wings and became birds so that they might fly away with their guardian, far from the reach of the fickle whims of dishonorable men. Yet another story claims that instead of returning to the woods, the guardian and the girls walked through a place where the veil was thin at the crossroads, protected by the staff of ash.

None of the village will spend the night at the crossroads, not even in the shade of the benevolent ash tree, for the crows still roost there and none are so innocent that they would surrender to the justice of their council.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_Croesffyrdd: Avvarian for "crossroads."_


	62. Chapter 41: Incentives and Commitment

**Chapter 41: Incentives and Commitment**

_Ser Simon Grey_

The Avvar tribesmen were determined; I could say that much for them. They had only a handful of swords that they had obtained by raiding or through trade with some of the low lying villages in the freeholds. I began drilling the strongest men in the village, trying to get a feel for their potential.

The chieftains of five tribes had convened, all of them looking at me with a mixture of disdain for the fact that I was an outsider and with a disguised sense of desperation. They knew that to go against the Templars, a force with superior weapons and training, offered little chance of victory. However, they saw few options if the Templars' mine was the source of the poison that was making their people ill: either they had to drive out the Templars or they would have to migrate South, a risky venture since it would put them in competition with both the Chasind tribes that had lived in the Wilds for ages and the newly established Dalish settlements near Ostagar. Even if they were able to all adjust and live in harmony, the land might not be able to support them and the area villages could potentially feel threatened, leading to resentment and violence. It had the potential to adversely affect both these people and Ferelden as a whole, incentive enough for me to help them.

Not that I required another incentive. I had incentive enough when I discovered what the Templars had been doing and saw the young child reaping its evil. The realization came to me that Letha had been their prisoner. In my mind I saw Letha deathly still on that pallet. All of her fear, all of her nightmares, all of her trembling was due to those monsters. Even without the Avvars, I would have found a way to exact retribution from the Templars.

Revenge is not the way of a knight. It is the result of misspent passions. My entire life I had honed myself to be above such petty ends. For me it was slightly shaming to realize that I was not completely impervious to the temptation of revenge, but I comforted myself that it was tempered with a sense of justice as well. I would not allow them to harm another as they had harmed her.

Bruna had been my eyes, ears and lips through the whole council. Though a woman, they treated her with far more respect than I, an outsider potentially in league with their enemies. They argued among themselves, nattering over land and water, numbers of goats, who would claim glory for something, who owed another blood-debt, who stole another man's pig. It reminded me of nobles at the Landsmeets and various diplomatic functions that Arl Eamon had attended over the years and I had observed them as an outsider. I had grown accustomed to the hum of great men arguing, demanding and wheedling, even in another language it sounded the same.

After an hour or more, my patience was at an end. I slammed an impatient hand upon a table and spat at them, "You sit here and argue, but your people are falling. If you make no decision then the Templars will make the decision for you. They will either take you by force or they will continue to poison your water supplies with lyrium until all of you slumber. Then they will not have to use force. I fought wolves who worked together more readily than you and they were a force to be reckoned with. Are you no better than wolves without teeth, howling your grievances to a moon that does not hear you?"

For a moment, Bruna looked at me and I wondered if she would refuse to translate my words for fear it would harm our chances of bolstering the chieftains to accept our common goal. Then she smiled at me and nodded her head to me before turning to the assembled men. Though I could not be sure that she had spoken my words aright, the tone of her voice matched the seething of my heart. The chieftains' expressions varied from outraged sputtering, to shame, to mildly amused or impressed. They scratched their beards and tugged their braids, spoke a little more quietly and civilly to one another, nodding. The eldest among them, the chieftain we had first been presented to on arriving in the village, rose and addressed us, he seemed resigned and his voice sounded tired.

"This chieftain says that you speak as a warrior should and your words carry truth. They have known peace for so long that they have forgotten the passion that a true warrior should embrace. The threat that we face is too great to be undertaken by one tribe alone. They must band together or they will fall. The dilemma is that no one tribe will follow another tribe's chieftain, for fear he will put them to harm to win himself glory. They not only need a warrior to train the men to meet the Templar's arts, they need a neutral party that can lead them without favor or ill will. As an outsider you are the only one with both the skill and the personal neutrality that will enable you to lead all reasonably." Bruna related this slowly with a furrowed brow, "It is their intention to bring force against the Templars in two weeks. They wish to know if this will be sufficient time in which to train their warriors and prepare for battle."

"_Two weeks,"_ I wanted to rail, _"It takes years to train men and you wish me to groom an army in two weeks? This is even assuming that there is enough information regarding their fortress and numbers to be able to make a reasonable strategy for an attack."_ The impossibility stunned me, and yet I knew that it was the only way. The King would not be able to wait forever if they had captured him and brought him to the mines and he would no more be able to withstand the effects of the lyrium than Letha had.

If the King fell here and had his wits compromised, what would happen to my country? There were none to take his place, save for the widowed Queen and she had nearly torn the land apart during the Blight and was still trying to create unrest even now.

Aside from that, he was a good man, soft hearted at times and impulsive, but he was honorable. It had become clear to me in his short time on the throne that he did not want power or prestige. He would have been happier with a simpler life, but he had been called to serve a nation and did not shrink from his responsibilities. I could respect him for that.

"I swear to lead your men to battle, and if I fail in helping them achieve victory, I will fall with them. Defeat is not an option for any of us," My statement reassured the chieftains of my intentions.

When Bruna related my words all the men rose to their feet with a cry of approval that would have rattled stone walls. There was no turning back.


	63. Chapter 42: Riding a Whisper

**Chapter 42: Riding a Whisper**

_Morrigan_

`Tis strange how the tremulous wings of a whisper can set in motion a revolution.

I no longer take for granted that I can sway others. That had been Mother's failing and it had cost her. I had failed once myself in that respect: misjudging the fidelity of the one I called friend and assuming a broken heart would not worry over acts so natural to beasts. A human heart is a curious thing and it still baffles and overturns that which I would order.

Yet she had murdered Mother at my asking.

I wonder at times why she had done it. I could not pay her, except in service, and even that she took advantage of sparingly. She was want to worry for me and was wary about where she sent me, for fear that I should be put in danger or made vulnerable to attack. This was not truly unusual, for she did so for the older Mage. In truth she did it for all of us: the assassin, the bard, the dwarf, the qunari warrior…even the golem. She did not take any of us for granted and would have balked at putting us in needless danger. She always had a plan, a way around so that all could find safety, even to the point of putting herself in jeopardy.

There was that one time…

Strange what the mind recalls when the author of such memories has quit our sight, our presence, our understanding…

We had been ambushed, there was no time for plans, there was no time for strategy, there was only survival by sword or claw or strength of arm. The others were far from me and I was surrounded, the creatures and their stench were overwhelming and my resources were at an end. Their soulless grimacing and their grunting before their frenzied striking surrounded me. I managed to fell some of the immediate threat with a psychic blast, incapacitating their simple minds and some fell to their knees, staggered, but that was not enough.

I remember my idle thoughts, "This is what it is to be swarmed and consumed. This is what it is for the lone wolf with no pack. This is what humans refer to when they speak of futility and hopelessness: without shield or shoulder to offer aid. Was this the legacy that Mother spoke of, either one must stand alone or one must fall alone?"

I would not be missed. Mother, whether deserving of that title or not, would not care if I were gone, save for the inconvenience of finding another to mold and manipulate. The empty-headed Templar would rejoice to be free of me. The others would not care one way or another, though they might shake their head sadly over my broken body and cluck their tongues in pity. I merited not the warmth of mourning or regret.

I had maintained my separation, thinking it had made me superior and then there was no one to stand beside me. There was no one to grip my hand and strive to keep me present as I was swept unwillingly into the Veil.

At that moment there was a roar and the monsters thinned out before her, as she fought through them to reach me. Covered in blood, teeth gritted, blades flashing like lightning strikes, she reminded me of a she-bear protecting her cubs. The beasts seemed in my perspective to become visibly smaller, insignificant in the presence of her petite power, her protective rage. She was soon at my side, forcing the monsters from me and I felt safe.

"Safe."

That is such an odd word for one who has lived as I have. It is even more peculiar to feel it, to experience it when all you have ever known was uncertainty.

When the threat had passed, she sat with me, checked my wounds, and waited until she had satisfied herself that I was well.

Afterwards it was never spoken of, for she required no thanks. She requested no payment or recognition. If anything she seemed far more deferential to me afterwards, though she strove to not make it obvious. Part of me simultaneously resented it and garnered a sense of security from it. I was carried, though I created weight.

Perhaps that is what made her powerful in the end. She carried not only us, but a nation. We were all her Alienage. If we fell her Alienage would fall, and no one would lift a finger to save them, so she included all of us.

My entire life I had assumed that death was a thing unwelcomed, but in her final decision I have come to see that when you carry such a burden, perhaps death is the only rest afforded. It is the final sacrifice that perhaps is not a sacrifice at all.

I had learned from my friend that standing alone can be suicide.

That is why the Avvars cannot stand alone in this endeavor. That is why they needed to act as one. There would be no one to mourn them if they fell.

The knight from Redcliffe turned out to be a boon from some benevolent force. As well as I might arrange things, not even I could have conjured that. Even Flemeth herself might have been hard pressed in her own machinations to produce such violent benevolence in one being. Initially I had my doubts of him, wondering if he would lower himself to champion these people and lead the charge against the Templars, but there is an indignation that he will not speak of that stirs him. The woman, the Fade Walker, she knows of it but will not confide in me.

She is wary and wonderful in her sight. I prefer her caution to the others' superstitious fears. She does not fear me, but she does not take my aid for granted. Unfortunately, perhaps, she will not be maneuvered, she will not be swayed, and she will not be coaxed or prodded against her better judgment. Open eyes and a sharp mind are dangerous things in those who have lived as long as she. She might even have been a rival for Flemeth, though I confess to prefer her to Mother. Flemeth would have liked her and laughed at my squirming. The woman sees far too much for one who looks askance.

What of it if my purpose be self-preservation!

Flemeth is not dead, her bile will not sleep. When she has gathered herself again, she will move against me: I would be a fool if I did not believe that. I was the author of her downfall, though I made no move to strike directly. It was better to destroy her before she destroyed me.

That is what I believe. That is what I am sure of…or so I tell myself.

The one who would have helped willingly is gone. I had no hand in her death, but I feel it far more acutely than the feigned death of the woman I called, "Mother." For all of it, I miss her, not for the fact that she would have helped me, but for the fact that she would have stood with me if I fell, she would have held my hand if I failed in these ends to preserve myself.

She would have mourned me, though that grief was the solitary monument to my life. I would have had worth and would have been remembered.

My struggle is futile, even as the struggle of these people is futile, for the possibility of success is laughable. Even should we win, even if I should maneuver them to obtain what I must to protect my own life, there will always be more shadows. There will always be uncertain threats from the corner of one's eyes where one suspects the blow shall come. I will never be as safe again as I was that one time.

I feel victory in my ability to move us forward, with me riding their backs to my intended destination, and I feel defeat knowing it will never be enough.

It is a tremulous whisper that I ride, and it will not be enough to carry me, though it blows down the entire Chantry of Thedas.

While the knight plays chieftain and the woman plays healer, I am playing scout with the hunters that can be spared from training. The Templars have taken prisoners to their mine for their personal gain. (Odd, how they and I seem to have no qualms using others to meet our ends, though I have stayed my hand from causing harm…as yet.) Their tracks are deep, though we had found signs of a struggle amid one of their camps and the corpses of darkspawn littered the ground.

It is hard to hide the distaste I feel for the creatures in general, but now they represent another threat, a complication to my freshly laid plans. They were another obstacle to an already impossible task. Our army, if it could be called thus, was small enough without having to contend with the beasts further thinning our numbers, though I should not have been surprised. I had a talent for being foisted into impossible causes, though for once I was the one responsible for hurtling myself into this affair.

I brooded over this the entire length of the road ahead, looking for other unwelcome signs, when we happened upon a crossroads and a tree. From the tree a body dangled on a noose, swaying with the stirring breeze.

What I saw was not uncommon for darkspawn to string up their victims like wind chimes or charms against ill-fortune. However something about this sight seemed wrong. There was no blood and the body looked pristine, unmarred by injury. It looked like a thin white waif.

It was puzzling, but what was far more startling was when I heard the thin gasp escape the lips and the eyes fluttered open, focusing on me.

It, or rather _she_, was still alive.


	64. Chapter 43: Silent Bell

**Chapter 43: Silent Bell**

_Sister Letha of Cloughbark_

The burn, the gasping burn against my neck, and I am branded:

Heretic to a heretic, broken truth gasped from my throat,

warnings create rage and mercies are rejected by the unmerciful.

My friend fell against steel gauntlets, and the burning that had been at my throat is now in my eyes and I cry. I try to tell him to stop struggling, to let it be. I try to tell the armored monsters to leave him alone. My words are stuck, my neck tries to flex around the rope, and I can only just manage to gasp a breath.

My legs twitch, catching at the air, feeling the queerness of nothing under my feet.

All the weight is at my neck, pulling me down,

and I swing in lazy arcs as my feet stretch to find ground

mirroring my neck trying to find sky.

My eyes are caught entranced at the struggle beneath me by those rooted, staked to the ground with their low understanding. They see only life and death. They lack my perspective as I flutter here, strangely safe from all the tatters surrounding them, those oblivious tatters breathing death as freely as the Templars mete it out. The tatters that flutter like flags:

The air is torn around this place

between the ground and space

where I am suspended:

the whole world is upended

below and the ground bells out.

The angry armor bellows,

he is no longer man but metal.

His hands ring every time he beats his chest, one hand gripped tight to the rope, his words seer the air. The woman rings even harder as she hits the metal in futility, trying to make a dent, trying to make him cease, but he drowns her out, his words are louder than the bell of his armor and the bell of her compassion. The fox-man creeps behind and tries to ring her head, and she crumples, hitting the ground with a thud instead of a crystal tone, like the ones she sang, though it feels so long ago. I alone am left as witness, a mute bell on a rope that the Templar tries to ring the music from. He cares not for my song and wishes me to cease, but he makes a far more discordant clamor.

The burn spreads to my lungs which feel simultaneously heavy and light.

Words of righteousness are choked out

by those who have no wish to hear,

unaware of what creeps so near.

The poison spreads

as I dangle above their heads.

Satisfied that I have ceased, the rope is tied off and they leave, the compassionate beaten by the misguided self-righteousness of the armored. The wind whistles through the branches of my belfry and I gaze down upon the ground so foreign now that I fly in a fashion. The departing drumming of hooves of heavy laden horses with unconscious and the conscious are the last, but the thrumming remains behind my eyes and in my distended neck, knocking against the rope pulled tight, but not tight enough. The light is breaking down into shattered rainbow speckles, scattering amid the tattered air.

The curious creature comes forward

His face resembling Fade forsaken in its awkward pulling

Stretched on a loom, patchwork made

It has sense but is senseless

Accompanied by the short silence

Gazing together through glassy eyes

"This one hums of lyrium," the curious one observes to the other, "but not to the extent as the others we found. She is far more cognizant, though."

The silent one points to the rope and the curious one nods, "We could cut her down, but that is not what she wants. Is it?" The question is thrown up at me like a ball, with the certainty that I would catch it.

"No," I whisper, though it costs me dear, the act of speaking softens my throat causing the rope to press harder, preventing me from swallowing the acidic taste in the back of my mouth.

"Normally it would not be about what you want," he says in an apathetic reassurance, "but you chose this path. I am not meant to remove you from it. You suffer in the sense that I suffer, do you not? We see, and yet are surrounded by the blind. Your vision differs from mine. You can see the gaps? I can merely feel them, but you can see them."

He asks questions but does not expect answers, taking for granted my replies.

He takes it all for granted.

He wants to take it all.

He has little granted.

He is like the Templars

in his tainted devotions:

driven to destroy

in order to make right

what he perceives to be wrong.

I am mute, as his companion is mute, but he feels her silence as he feels mine. He knows the answers, or believes that he does. Her mind is attuned to his, like a harmony floating above the melody. I am just a passing song on the breeze, the tempo slows. He continues to look up at me in empty appraisal.

We three are silent along with Nature, me above and them below, which should be clamorous and loud, calling and writhing in life, but it sleeps unnaturally. The autumn has not passed and yet the Cauldron longs for sleep, the sleep of one drugged. It is a groggy, grubbing sleep, a complacent nodding that enables the trees themselves to be uprooted along with the unhinged air. These creatures could take ownership while the rest of the Cauldron is incapacitated in its stupor.

"Beware," I croak thinly, my heart moved with the same compassion for them as from the Templars, banished and sundered from the Maker and yet unaware.

"Such a strange thing to waste your air on us," the creature replied, and the silent one looked up at me, something disturbing its blankness for a moment, like ripples in a still pond. Pain or compassion, I could not ken the momentary disturbance before it vanished, leaving emptiness as before. She senses what the other cannot, a sense that only her true silence can perceive. There is kinship between she and me.

The walk away and some stray minions wobble behind, tottering like unbalanced ships, lashed about by a violent wind.

Alone again, save for the sound that my body creates, creaking my weight against the bough that the rope rubs against, keeping me aloft. My mind wishes to ride away, for I can hear it galloping inside my ears, taking me far away. The gasping whistles of my own shallow, struggling breaths are slowly being drowned out by the thundering, the hooves of a spooked horse fills my senses, though I am calm, slowly succumbing to the end.

Above it all, the buzz of lyrium like insistent bees, threatening the greedy robber stealing sweetness.

Drifting, my mind jangles,

empty bell,

flowers fell,

blue and red,

upon the dead.

Lost the knell

of the dying bell;

no one left

to be bereft.

Maker take me,

the vessel empty,

fill me again.

You will be, are now, you were then.

Take,

take,

drip,

drop,

stop.

She is a raven that peers at me from the ground, her head cocked curious, not like the creature but in her own way. I look at her, wondering if she is real, if she wandered through the tatters and took the shape of human, unsure of what to be, so birdlike is she.

I move my lips, not to speak, but to reassure myself that I am real, that I still have hold of something while the rest of the world gallops away.

She perceives it, her eyes widen in realization, and she cries, but it is not as I expected. I thought she would crow or croak, like I am accustomed to birds. She has surprised me as I have surprised her. We are neither what we expected.

I feel the rope jerking slightly, as someone unseen scrabbles with the rope and I start to drop suddenly before steadied.

The woman shrieks, thundering words that no longer have sense at someone, words have lost meaning. They sound under water, beneath the crashing blood in my ears. The feet are returned to the ground, but my flight has stolen my bones, I cannot stand and I lower further until I am sprawled, limp.

She is yelling, directing, cradling me, trying to speak to me, asking, demanding, comforting, but again the words are meaningless. I cannot recall their meaning. I cannot make sense. My lips move again soundless. The rope has burned them away, they are cinders, though the brand has loosened and now the air burns as it fills the weary lungs.

She takes a skin, wetting her fingers and placing them against my lips.

It is the one action I understand.

It is kindness:

kindness from a raven.

Perhaps she will steal my soul,

but she will be welcome if she wants it.

The Maker can find it,

regardless of the guardian.

She will keep it safe,

and I can sleep.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_Some of what inspired this piece with Letha was the poem: Half-Hanged Mary by Margaret Atwood. It is based on a true story about Mary Webster who was hanged for witchcraft and survived. I highly recommend it._


	65. Interlude 21: The Divine Fool

_**Interlude 21: The Divine Fool**_

_Sister Wisigard, Chief Archivist of Val Royeaux_

The Divine Joyous I's reign was as short as it was unorthodox.

As it had been for many years, the previous divine, passed away from old age and left the name of her successor. The Divine Renata II had a very long and distinguished tenure as Divine, but in her waning years it was suspected that age had taken its toll on her faculties. She named a simple sister, Deuteria, as her successor. This sister had been responsible for bringing the aging divine her meals and entertaining the poor woman in her last days.

Initially the Grand Consensus balked at the idea, assuming that Deuteria had ingratiated herself to the Divine Renata in an attempt to use the woman as a stepping stone to seize power. This assumption was soon proved false, as the sister was interviewed by the Consensus and found to be _quite_ simple. Though intelligent, the young woman was painfully naïve and gregarious, all outward appearances dictating her to be unsuitable for so esteemed a position.

The gathered clerics consoled themselves that Deuteria was not desirous of power, but had been chosen as a result of the elderly Divine's eccentricity due to her advanced age. The Consensus then turned its attention to consider a variety of candidates for the position. This led to a series of arguments and speeches, drawing out what still remains as the longest Grand Consensus in the history of the Chantry. After two weeks the clerics were deadlocked over a variety of candidates, no closer to deciding on a Divine than when they had first begun.

The legends state that a small blue bird flew into the chamber from an open window, landing upon the shoulder of Sister Deuteria. The bird then commenced singing a song so sweet, that the gathered clerics ceased arguing and stopped to listen, entranced by the natural beauty of the song. The young sister offered the bird some crumbs from a crust of bread she had in her pocket. The bird picked up the crumbs, flew around Deuteria's head three times, then promptly left the chamber through the same open window it had entered.

Many of those gathered insisted the occurrence had been a miracle, the bird symbolizing the simplicity of the Bride of the Maker and her message through the song, moving the hearts of men. Favor among the assemblage shifted towards Sister Deuteria as candidate, though some of the clerics from Tevinter scoffed at so simple a view of the Maker, arguing that the event was happenstance and not truly a miracle. In the end, however, Deuteria was elected unanimously.

Deuteria chose the name, Joyous, becoming the first Divine to adopt that name. The name fit her demeanor, as she felt that it was Andraste's joy in spite of her suffering that drew the attention of suffering. It was during Divine Joyous' reign that music became commonplace in the services, as previously the Chant of Light was simply spoken and not sang. Liturgical music was embraced and endorsed.

However, many of Divine Joyous' detractors claimed that she undermined the authority of the Chantry by walking openly among the populace, encouraging people to come to her, entertaining the opinions of washerwomen, cooks, gardeners, even Elvish servants. No one was beneath her notice and she treated them all equally. Those opposed to her behavior often derisively refered to her privately as, "the Divine Fool."

Shortly after her own ascension, attention was lessened over worries of mages and given to serving the poor. Some historians claimed that she nearly bankrupted the Chantry coffers, giving the money freely to those less fortunate, though it cannot be proven as factual. However, it is common knowledge that she adopted a far more unpretentious outlook on her position, claiming that she was called to serve, not to rule.

Traditionally, it is believed that during the colder months, Joyous would steal into Val Royeaux at the darkest day towards the end of Satinalia, find the poorest wretches in the city and bring them back to her quarters at the Grand Cathedral. Once she was satisfied with her assemblage, she herself would dress her "guests" in clean clothes, help to bathe any wounds they possessed, and serve them a lavish meal, putting the lowest among them at the head of the table. (More often than not, this place of honor would be given to a child.)

Once the meal had been concluded, the Divine herself would tuck these people into warm beds. On waking during the following day, the people who the Divine had chosen would be found berths in occupations or found homes that would utilize the gifts that these forgotten denizens possessed. She helped many in this fashion and became beloved for her kindness and, of those that Divine Joyous aided in this fashion, many in turn helped their fellows, the compassion being repaid by further compassion which spread among the city itself and the whole of Orlais.

When asked once by a cleric how she found the recipients of her kindness, the Divine Joyous simply replied, "A little bird brought them to my attention." She refused to elaborate beyond this.

Unfortunately, this continued for only a handful of years, as a wasting illness took her away from her duties. However, even in the face of illness, Divine Joyous served her flock both humbly and joyfully. Her acts of kindness were vast and legendary and for many years after her death, the Chantry would honor her memory by holding _"Feasts of the Joyous" _in which the lowliest were given places of honor at elaborate feasts during the time of Satinalia. These feasts would include much drinking and merriment.

Later, at the death of Divine Joyous II and the beginning of the Black Age, the tradition of annual _"Feasts of the Joyous"_ were abandoned, being purported as frivolity in the face of darker and more serious times. An unknown cleric even wrote in response, _"The joy of faith has died, replaced with solemnity and blood."_

The Divine Joyous herself has been forgotten as a minor footnote in the Chantry's history when viewed in comparison to the Exalted Marches and the austerity of her successors, but her spirit of charity and compassion still lives on in many places where the Chantry holds sway and the sisters serve the poor.


	66. Chapter 44: Of Kisses and Keys

Chapter 44: Of Kisses and Keys

_Alistair / Ser Sellose_

_Once again I found myself in the company of my doppelganger in the Fade. Instead of the throne room of Denerim, we were in what I perceived to be a fine hall, though I could hardly tell, for the room was enveloped in a thick mist. The only thing that indicated that we were in a hall was the fact that he and I sat at opposite ends of a long, ornate table. The table looked to be set for a feast and two candelabras had long white candles ablaze, but the brightness of their light did nothing to ease the thickness of the mist that obscured all else._

_ I sat glaring at him, displeased to be here once again, while he looked mildly uncomfortable and slightly sad, even from the other end of the table. He sat with his elbows resting on the table edge, his index fingers steepled next to his lips as he sat regarding me in silence._

_ In our time together I had become accustomed to his incessant nattering and I found myself becoming impatient with his silence, and I spat, "Well, get on with it…what would you have of me this time?" _

_ Regardless of my urging, he continued to sit in silence, as if considering what he was about to say very carefully and I was forced to wait and endure. The whole situation was quite maddening, with not even a tune to break the spell of forced quiet. I would have given anything for a shriek or a tune, even the clatter of armor._

_ "_Damn, where are the darkspawn when I need them?"_ I thought to myself, refraining from speaking the words aloud._

_ "Be careful what you wish for," my doppelganger chided, seeming in response to my random musing._

_ "Oh, are you reading my thoughts now?" I sneered impatiently._

_ He shook his head wearily, "They are my thoughts too, or have you forgotten that I am you?"_

_ "You are not me, I am me!"_

_ "You are so damn stubborn," he huffed, bemoaning my behavior, "and why quibble over my silence now? You have kept me silent for so long, I assumed you preferred it that way."_

_ "Stop toying with me!" I demanded, standing up quickly from where I sat and slammed my fist against the table._

_ He too got up and mirrored my stance, refraining from slamming his fist against the table as I had done, though he looked frustrated enough to do the same. He growled, "I have no desire to toy with you or anyone. In fact, I am on the verge of abandoning you completely and being done with this whole business. You are unhappy without me, you are unhappy with me…you cannot seem to make up your damn mind! It is not easy being the heart of someone who is striving to turn themselves into a heartless bastard!"_

_ "I was already a bastard, what does it matter if I have a heart?" I growled._

_ "So that is it, then," he nodded, "you want to be heartless. You want to give up everything and just exist in a tepid reality with nothing to bring you joy or pain, truly?"_

_ "You are asking this of a man who has just seen a woman hanged, who has watched the people he loved suffer, who was never loved by any until…."the words trailed off as I felt tears stinging in my eyes and hastily tried to wipe them away with the back of my hand._

_ "You reason it is better to feel nothing, then?" he inquired, his voice softening slightly._

_ "It would be better to feel nothing. It would be better to live heartless and avoid the pain and disappointment that I have suffered. It would be better to cease longing for a soft word, a gentle hand, a scrap of joy that people are so reluctant to offer." I whispered brokenly._

_ "Then tell me, oh King," the doppelganger needled, "when I have abandoned you as you seem so insistent to abandon me, what will prevent you from becoming like Ser Manning? What will prevent you from performing such outrages in the name of piety as he has committed?"_

_ I shook my head violently, "I would not become like Manning. I know what honor is. I know the difference between right and wrong. I would not hurt people."_

_ "That is easily spoken by a man who is still in possession of a heart," he taunted, "for the heart tempers the bent of honor and balances justice. Mercy lives within the heart, Alistair. Could you be a good king without it?"_

_ "Of course," I scoffed, but I was suddenly unsure._

_ The doppelganger rubbed a hand against his chin, "Have you so soon forgotten another man who followed his own honor over his heart?"_

_ "Of whom do you speak?" The question was reluctant, confused for I truly had no idea of whom my companion referred._

_ "Loghain!" The doppelganger hissed the name and made a face as if it were rancid meat that he would prefer to spit from his mouth, "For honor Loghain abandoned his king and the Wardens to die. He reasoned that it would be better for this country to fight the darkspawn alone than allow the help of the Orlesians, spurning the aid of the Wardens, oblivious of how necessary we truly were. He too had been lowly, he too had been raised to a position of power, he too had lost friends and struggled alone to do what he felt his honor dictated. What will prevent you from becoming as he?"_

_ "I will never be Loghain!" I bellowed, slamming my fist against the table again for emphasis._

_ "But what will prevent it?" he questioned again, "When your heart is gone and you have nothing to guide your senses of honor and justice, what will keep you in balance?"_

_ "I will never be Loghain!" I insisted again, the words rasping in my throat as I hung my head, lacking some of the self-righteous vehemence that had emphasized the statement before._

_ "Perhaps," the doppelganger allowed reluctantly, "but before I take my leave of you, let me show you what I will take with me and will be yours no longer."_

_ With his right hand, the doppelganger made a gesture that caused the mist to dissipate slightly. A scene began to come into focus, one from the past, a moment that I had forgotten in the past year and played out as pale shadows before my eyes. _

_I saw Nerine, her auburn hair neatly plaited and coiled near the nape of her neck. She wore a set of ancient Dalish armor she had salvaged from the ruins in the Brecilian forest. A craftsman from the Dalish clan we had allied with had modified the breastplate and helmet to better fit her. The color of the armor was a pale gray with a greenish hue in its sheen when the sun hit it. I vaguely recalled at that moment when I had first seen her proudly wearing it. _

_Her midriff was exposed, though that had seemed a design flaw to me, but she had been so pleased with it that I could not bring myself to criticize the design. It suited her far better than the clunky, unflattering, mismatched scale mail that she had been wearing up to that point. In fact, to see her look so lovely had caused my ears to grow hot and my mouth had become so dry that I could not even whistle. (Not that I would have whistled…I simply could not have whistled, provided I had wanted to whistle, which I didn't and couldn't.) I had to cast my glance askance rather than continue to watch her lithe figure displaying the armor and mused that perhaps the goal was to distract one's opponents._

_The scene that played out before me was one that must have occurred shortly after we had revived Arl Eamon, for a past phantom of me still carried that ridiculous Templar shield and wore the old Warden armor that I had since Ostagar. The shadow approached Nerine shyly, beckoning her to a place away from the rest of the camp so they could speak privately._

"_Nerine," the shadow spoke, "now that we are back at camp, I want to talk about Redcliffe, about what happened."_

"_You were there, you saw what happened," Nerine replied._

"_Yes, I know. I've had some time to think about it now. I just wanted to thank you. You went out of the way to save the Arl and his family and you did it, even though it would have been easier not to." The shadow of me observed these things awkwardly to Nerine and I had a sensation of embarrassment at how self-conscious I was at that moment. Speaking to her had always been easy, and yet it was at that moment that I realized how unworthy I was to even do so, how lowly I was compared to her, for she was everything I could have ever wanted, she met every ideal I had carried within myself of what I desired in a woman._

_When Nerine did not respond, the shadow gushed on, "There has been so much death and destruction, it…well it…it makes me feel good that at least we were able to save something, no matter how small..."_

"_Like the rose you plucked from Lothering?" she inquired, her lips curving into a soft smile as she recalled the little flower I had previously bestowed on her in a moment of rampant sentiment and the shadow colored at the words._

"_Yeah…well…" the shadow stammered._

"_If we can stop the Blight, we will save much more," she reminded the painfully uncertain warrior who far more resembled a little boy wearing borrowed armor than an actual Grey Warden. It was painful to recall how awkward I was then._

"_You're right! Hopefully by that time there will be enough left of Ferelden to save," the shadow quickly added, nodding solemnly before rushing on, reverting to humor to shield me from my discomfort, "Good, now that the warm fuzzy portion of the day is over with, we can get back to the ritual dismemberments. Oh wait; today is not Tuesday, is it?"_

_Then she did something that took me completely by surprise, she purposefully closed the distance between us. She was small compared to me, diminutive and delicate in her features, but they looked determined as she looked up at me and I could see my shadow visibly swallow nervously. Standing on tiptoe she reached her arms around my neck and whispered in chiding tones, "Alistair, I know what Arl Eamon means to you. Even if he were not vital to our mission, I would have stormed the Fade itself to save him."_

_The shadow's eyes grew wide, disbelieving, "So…you did it…for me…because…?" The words trailed off, as if I were unable to wrap my mind around what she spoke, but she cut them off with a tender kiss, feather light._

"_I love you, Alistair, one of the last Grey Wardens of Ferelden," she breathed, releasing one of her hands long enough to tap me gently on the nose, "Even if the whole of Thedas falls, never forget that."_

_With that, the shadows of the past faded, as if thinned to nothing by sunlight. As the image of her disappeared from sight, there was a sensation of pain in my chest, wringing my breath from me and I was gasping._

_I had forgotten that moment, or more accurately I had cast the memory away from myself, denying how much it had meant in the days following the Archdemon's defeat. I had filled my days with rebuilding the capital, signing new laws, arranging for the transfer of Arl Howe's estate into the Grey Wardens' possession and returning the rightful lands to the surviving members of the Cousland family. I conferred with architects and builders on how to improve the city and surrounding towns, but most especially in making necessary improvements to the Alienage in Denerim, as I knew she would have desired, though I refused to even consider my true reasons for doing it._

_The only time I had allowed myself to dwell on her, to think of what might had been in the intervening months, was during the ceremony to honor her. Her remaining family had been in attendance, her father and two of her cousins, and I could barely look at them. It was hard to see their resemblance to her and know that she was no more. They had been gracious, in spite of their losses, and I had sworn to them that she would be remembered, that the lives of her brethren would be improved in honor of her sacrifice._

_I had ensured that she would be remembered, though I strove to forget, to numb the pain her absence had created._

"_Are you certain you wish to be free of me," the doppelganger questioned, breaking me from my reverie._

_I shook my head, unsure if my own words would serve me because of the roiling emotions washing over me. When I could breathe properly again I implored, "Why are you doing this to me? Why can you not leave me be? Do you want to break me?"_

"_No, I would not harm you, though you seem insistent on harming yourself," he observed, approaching me and standing at my elbow, "I do not pretend to have the answers, for I cannot exist apart from reason. You require balance."_

"_But what causes you to remind me of this?" I insisted._

"_Reality had triggered the memory, and it conflicts within me even now, but I cannot make sense of it unless you are willing to acknowledge me once again. You need to stop hating me for loving her and stop hating yourself for choosing to leave her to her end. This is no good for us to constantly despise one another." He said this evenly, maintaining his composure while I struggled to do the same._

"_Reality?" I choked._

_He nodded his head and gestured again, this time, rather than seeing a scene of the past playing before me, I was thrust into reliving a recent moment. I stood beneath a tree at a crossroads, and I was not alone._

_Svenya threw herself into my arms, though my wrists were shackled, and claimed my mouth with her own. The kiss was strong and sweet, demanding in its spontaneous urgency. On the back of my neck I could feel her fingers: they were slightly calloused from playing the lute, though even calloused they were still gentle. They ruffled my hair at my nape, drawing me to her face, holding me captive._

_It vaguely occurred to me that this was the closest she had ever let me be to her. When I had taught her forms with Rian's great sword there had been very little touch involved, save for a few firm brushes of the hand to adjust elbow levels and hand grips. In those moments were muscles were tense, self-conscious, driven to be hard in order to maintain a battle ready demeanor._

_However, at that moment, she felt strangely soft in my arms. The strong tone of her muscles were still there, but they melded into my body, filling the contours of the embrace, though they could not erase the feel of cold metal from the shackle chains stretched like a barrier between us._

_Her action had startled me and I was momentarily frozen, but her mouth moved insistently against my mine, open and nipping at my bottom lip, encouraging me to respond in kind, her tongue massaging open my own mouth. I felt myself comply, though hesitantly at first. It had been so long since I had been kissed that I was stunned by the sensation. _

_My hands found purchase of her hips and my fingers pressed into her flesh, gripping her to me so hard that I wondered if it hurt. There was a pounding in my ears, rushing with heart. My face felt hot; as if the kiss were an inferno and I would be incinerated by it._

_I opened my mouth at the insistence of her tongue and finally allowed myself to be overcome, inhaling deeply the mingled smells of Andraste's Grace, straw and earth. The taste of her mouth was salty and vaguely…metallic?_

_A hard, oddly shaped object was being pushed past my lips along with her tongue. Opening my mouth wider, my own tongue explored the contours of a metal circle and bluntly barred end. A sense of realization dawned that she had stolen the small shackle key from Manning's waist when she had made a show of pleading on her knees before him. This thought eclipsed all the confused emotions the kiss had initially inspired and filled me with a deep tenderness, realizing the wondrous compassion of her actions. Her concern had been for me and enabling my release._

_I had just tucked the key into my cheek with my own tongue when Manning had pulled Svenya from my hands. The physical absence of her body from me felt like the unwelcome opening of a door during the winter. The cold of it made me gasp, and my own body staggered forward slightly to reclaim her warmth and close the emptiness between us, but rough hands prevented me from completing the action._

_Then the vision was gone and I stood before my doppelganger once again, my fingers still outstretched as if I would once again snatch Svenya back to me from the very air._

"_I am so broken," the doppelganger nearly sobbed at me fervently, "I know not what I feel. I am empty, unused to these caresses and tenderness. She calls to me and part of me yearns, but it is not the same. I cannot tell if something lacks, or if it is a failing in me. I do not know you any longer. I do not know myself any longer. I cannot continue to exist in this fashion: either reclaim me or release me, but do not continue to trap me here in chains." _

_I looked down and could see that he was shackled in the same fashion as I was in the waking world, though on a closer look I could see that his own wrists were raw and oozing, as if he had been chained for a long time and fought against the binding. The injuries looked angry and painful. His eyes implored me to respond._

"_I am sorry," I muttered, hanging my head._

_The doppelganger sighed, visibly wilting in his chains, "I understand why you do it, but it does not make it easier to bear. Please consider what I say. This confinement is killing me, just as it is killing you."_

_With that, I could feel myself floating away from him, but before I had completely withdrawn from my doppelganger, I became aware of another voice posing a question to him, "Will he relent?"_

"_I am not sure I know him well enough any longer to say," the doppelganger replied with heavy tones bordering on despair._

* * *

I returned to consciousness, registering the smell of the horse whose back I was slumped over. My arms dangled over one side and my legs dangled over the other. The beast swayed and snorted under my burden. To my left I could make out the presence of another body pressed beside me, the labored breathing of another with the horse's back pressing against his abdomen.

On considering my state, I gingerly ran my tongue over the outline of the key in my mouth. Miraculously, even in the assault from the other Templars, the key was still pressed between the side of my cheek and my gums. I had not swallowed it and it had not fallen from my lips when my face had gone slack in unconsciousness. The coppery taste of the key blended with a saltiness from my own blood since the key had cut into the side of my mouth when the Templars repeatedly struck me and I had kept my jaw clenched to prevent from losing the key.

Feeling reassured, I gently nudged the body next to me and whispered, "Murchad?"

I was greeted with a muffled groan and I sighed in relief. He was responsive and alive. When we had the opportunity we could escape together. From there we would be able to decide how best to retrieve Svenya and then make our way back to Herferien, and from there, return to Denerim, raise an army and crush Ser Manning's entire perverted order.

For the time being, I waited patiently, feigning continued unconsciousness, I whiled away the empty hours of travel reviewing what I would do to Manning once I had the opportunity and was again in control of my being. All I could think of was poor Letha dangling from a rope and resolving that Manning needed to die slowly. I could not conceive of any mercy for Manning and all who shared his ilk.

That night, when we reached clearing along the road, the horse stopped abruptly and I was roughly hauled from the back of the horse and dumped onto the ground near a tree. The same individual dropped Murchad on top of me with an unceremonious, "whuff!"

A harsh kick against my side caused me to open my eyes, though one was swollen to a thin slit from the beating I had received earlier that day. I gazed up at the face beyond the armor that glared in the firelight and Manning returned to look, his eyes cold, "Tomorrow we will reach Heidrunscap, and then your misery will begin. You will be ground into the dirt and I shall rejoice for every hour of your travail. When you die, I will dispose of you like all other refuse. Enjoy the air, rogue, for you will not breathe its fresh sweetness again past tomorrow."

I refrained from speaking, fearing that opening my mouth would reveal the key that was hidden within, but I stared at him, endowing my glare to fill with how deeply I despised him and thought in my mind, _"You take much for granted. Gloat while you can. When I am free there will be a reckoning betwixt you and me."_

He stalked away after that, chuckling malevolently, and I rolled to my side. I got to my knees and helped Murchad to sit up. He too had been beaten badly and had a nasty gash on his brow and I encouraged him, "Come on, Murchad. We have to wake up. Let me see your wounds."

Ripping my sleeve from my shoulder, I tried to bandage his head. He looked pale and confused, so I continued to talk to him quietly until he finally responded, "They took Mae…"

"Yes," I affirmed, "but we will get her back, I promise."

"How?" he demanded, cringing in pain as I tied the fabric tightly.

With that I winked and stuck out my tongue, the small key to our shackles balanced on it. Murchad's eyes grew wide, disbelieving, taking in a shuddering breath, "Where did you get that?"

"Your sister found a way to save us with a kiss," I smiled ruefully, trying to push away the memory of her lips on mine.

"Only Mae…" Murchad shook his head, but cringed again, the wound causing him great pain and I helped him to sit against a nearby tree. When the young man opened his eyes and looked at me again, the orbs were watery with deep emotion.

I nodded, understanding what he was unable to speak. Only Mae could find a way so clever and do so with no thought for herself

"Should we wait until the Templars sleep and then try to slip away?" Murchad whispered.

I answered, "No, I doubt they will give us an opportunity, not considering what occurred last night. We need to bide our time. Besides, you and I still need to find out the state of affairs at Heidrunscap. I admit to being greatly intrigued to discover what has happened there."

"There is nothing good there. They will send us to the mines and we will not have another opportunity to escape," he argued quietly, trying to avoid drawing the attention of our captors.

To this I smiled, "You know very little of mines, Murchad. If you did, you would know that if there is a mine, there are tunnels, and all tunnels either lead or can be made to lead the Deep Roads. That will be our escape."

"The Deep Roads?" squeaked Murchad weakly, "How can we navigate the Deep Roads?"

"Trust me," I reassured him, "I will be able to lead us through the Deep Roads and find a way back to the surface away from Heidrunscap. They will not find us."

"How do you know enough about the Deep Roads to say this with such certainty?" he demanded, still visibly incredulous.

Smiling, I returned, "Though it seems a lifetime ago, once I was a Grey Warden…"

"But…you are obviously of Ferelden, otherwise you would have an accent. After the Landsmeet had convened and the Blight had ended, word had been sent from the capital: we had been told that all of Ferelden's Grey Wardens had been massacred at Ostagar, except for…" as he spoke, a spark of realization flashed in his eye and Murchad became silent. His eyes grew wider and he seemed to be searching my face for some indicator that I jested.

"Now you know my secret," I confirmed, "I am Alistair Theirin, former Grey Warden and current King of Ferelden."

Murchad's mouth opened and closed a couple of times before replying, "Does Mae know?"

My mouth curled in chagrin as I insisted, "Not yet, but she will…"


	67. Chapter 45: The Aviary

**Chapter 45: The Aviary**

_**Svenya / Maerwynn Crewe**_

Even before my eyes opened, I could feel the throbbing lump on the back of my head swelling and I could not think beyond that because my ears were ringing. When I finally ventured to open my eyes the light stung and made them water so all my vision was bleary. I closed my eyes tight again and groaned, my hands groping about at my sides to discern what I was lying on and felt scratchy woolen blankets stretched across a narrow bed.

Before I could build up my courage to attempt squinting around the room, a pair of soft, gentle hands slowly sat me up and leaned me forward, holding me still against a shoulder as a stranger sat beside me on the bed. Some sort of unguent was applied and it was made of familiar smelling herbs that soothed me. The person then leaned me back and I could feel the edge of a goblet pressed to my lips, wetting them slightly with cool water, but was unable to swallow. The water was retched up, dribbling down my chin and spilling onto my clothes. Sitting up was making me too dizzy.

I was lowered to my back again and the unknown caretaker patted my hand reassuringly and stood up, shuffling around where I lay with slightly dragging steps. There were the sounds of bustling, water being poured, rags being wrung, fabric being folded and finally the scraping of wood as a chair was dragged across the floor.

"Thank you," I whispered hoarsely, hoping the words conveyed the depth of gratitude I felt for the person who was seeing to my wellbeing.

I heard a reassuring creak, as someone sat heavily in a chair next to me, but any time I tried to open my eyes to look at them, I could not focus. The dim light of a candle did nothing to help me, and even that small amount caused my head to ache if my eyes dared open. My attempts at movement were met with a small sigh, and the person took my hand, squeezing it with a mild pressure, causing me to still.

One last time I forced my eyes open, and through the tears I could barely make out the outline of a woman's face, haloed in the pale glare of the candle to my weary eyes, obscuring any distinct characteristics. The best I could discern before closing my eyes was that her hair was brown and it framed a round face.

I was unable to remain awake amid the pain in my head and the stinging of my eyes. Releasing my consciousness, I sank again into a murky, dreamless sleep.

* * *

The length of my slumber was interminable. At times I was vaguely aware of being lifted or turned. Someone hovered close at hand, with a sound akin to the rustling of feathers or the beating of wings, but I could not bring myself to rouse completely.

When I finally woke, there was sunlight streaming through a window, its shutters were open wide. A teasing breeze danced along my cheeks and I suspect that is what drew me back to consciousness. Breathing deeply, I filled my lungs and the chill stung slightly, but it also helped to clear some of the sleepy haze that hung on me like a mantle.

Since my head appeared to have lessened in its throbbing, I struggled to sit up. The protest of the creaking bed mimicked the protests of my achy muscles. The sounds brought my caretaker to my side, helping to lever me up with the strength of her arm. When I was steady she drew back and I was able to fully examine her for the first time with clear vision.

As I had noticed before, she had a round face, but it was perched atop a block of a body. While I was accustomed to Bruna who was soft, this woman was solid, muscled like a plow horse used hard work. Her clothes were a dark gray mottled with stains. It may have once been black, but had faded with washing and wear. Her dark eyes peaked out as glittering pebbles regarding me like a magpie considering a shiny object, withholding judgment of worth until I proved myself.

"Hello," I smiled, though unnerved by her silent scrutiny, "you have been taking care of me?"

The woman nodded, but said nothing.

"How long have I been asleep?" I questioned, trying to draw her out.

She held up two fingers, the expression on her face did not alter.

"Two? You mean two days?"

Again she nodded, withdrawing her fingers from the air and tucking her hand beneath her other arm. The placement of her limbs crossed over her chest, as if shielding her heart. The stance betrayed nothing of who she was or her emotions.

I planned to question her further and discover the specifics of my situation when the distinct scraping click of a key turning in a rusty lock drew my attention to the door. There was only one for the room, and it was at this point that I realized that the room was almost completely round with the exception of the one wall that the door was on. The door itself was arched and made of heavy oak. After the click of the key there was the sound of a heavy bar being lifted and a bolt being withdrawn. The door swung out, allowing entrance to three individuals: a woman carrying a heavily lade food tray, my yellow eyed brother and the familiar figure of Arl Boese.

It had been years since I had last seen his lordship. His large frame had gained girth and his shoulders stooped slightly. The hair that had once been dark curls was nearly all gray. However, the hooked nose and green eyes were the same as they had been when I was fourteen, but the eyes had become squintier. His jaw was still square and set forward in an exaggerated under bite. He resembled a much older version of his family crest: a boar that had aged after many years of evading hunters, still strong, but his piggy eyes had begun to fail to the point where he no longer recognized he was in the presence of predators.

"Ah, Arl Boese, it appears that my sister has awoken," my brother oozed, toadying to disguise his true nature from the arl, "Maerwynn, per chance you recall the Arl. He has provided these lavish accommodations and servants to wait upon your needs. You had been injured in that darkspawn attack and were unconscious when you arrived. Perhaps your memory has been affected?"

"I am still of sound mind, Ronan. There were darkspawn, but they did not give me the lump on the back of my head," I stated, eyes narrowed.

Arl Boese offered airily, "Then you must have fallen and struck your head during the battle. You are fortunate that you were not killed considering a number of Ser Manning's Templars died in the attack."

Ronan wore a smile, but the eyes gave me a pointed look. The threat was behind the smile and I chose silence rather than disclose my brother's treachery. Boese was no friend and it would be foolish to offer him the truth when he was equally abhorrent as my brother. My chances stood better if I bided my time for a more fortuitous moment.

"These women," Arl Boese nodded to the two women in turn, "have worked for my house for many years. Derora will be preparing and bringing your meals. Kanara will be staying with you, keeping you company."

The woman who was my caretaker, Kanara, seemed to cringe when Boese spoke her name. She was a strong woman and imposing, but next to Boese she was small. I had to fight the urge to go and stand before her, standing between her and the arl, but I refrained, concerned that such an action would just draw more attention to her.

I had been so preoccupied with Kanara that I had missed my brother's sycophantic gabbling, until he added, "Just think, dear sister, this woman will be an apt companion for you. She will never interrupt you and silently listen to your ceaseless singing and jesting without complaint."

"I beg your pardon?" I stated as a knot formed in the pit of my stomach.

Ronan sighed, as if he were made to endure a precocious child, "I see your injuries still have addled your senses. As I was saying, the woman is mute. She can still hear, but she cannot speak."

Gritting my teeth, I held back a growl at my brother's insensitivity. He had probably arranged this, fearing I would tell this woman of his treachery, hoping to get word out.

"I hope you will enjoy the view, Lady," Arl Boese added, each syllable sounding slimy and deferential, "this tower once housed my Aviary. I had become bored with it a few years ago and decided to convert it into guest quarters. On a clear day you can see to the Waking Sea."

_"I shudder to think what happened to your birds. You probably wrung each of their little necks personally since you would never just let them go,"_ I inwardly seethed, though the latter part of his comments piqued my interest, "I had not realized that Swidden was so close to the Waking Sea."

"Yes, Lady, just beyond the Northern Range bordering the Cauldron I discovered a narrow pass that can access the sea. Ships could take you to Kirkwall or Orlais from there." He smiled, and his crooked teeth were like yellowed tusks.

Tamping down my feelings of revulsion, I made my face a mask of smiling sweetness, "Have you sailed the Waking Sea?"

Apparently my guise appealed to him, and he grinned wider, "No, but I intend to soon. I long to sail on a strong vessel with a fine wind! I could conquer…"

Something in his speech disturbed Ronan, for he adeptly cut in, narrowly avoiding interrupting Arl Boese's enthusiasm, "My lordship, we still have other matters to discuss regarding your future plans and my sister should not over exert herself so soon after being injured. Good day, my dear," Ronan added this dismissively, ushering Boese towards the door.

The older man seemed unaware that he was being manipulated. He clapped my brother affectionately on the shoulder and began to speak of a new horse in his stable that he was hoping to break. If it went well he intended to ride the steed during hunting. If it did not go well, he would have animal gelded and turn it over to a farmer for a plough horse, "Would you be interested to see the animal. It has such spirit, such fire. It will be a source of great amusement."

"Quite," agreed my brother, casting a careless glance over his shoulder to catch my eye, "it is entertaining to watch a dumb animal struggle in futility against a superior force. Eventually they learn, though… Good day, dear sister. We shall visit again soon."

I stood in the center of the room, listened as they left. The bolt was rammed home with a sickening thud, followed by the bar dropping with a bang. The rusty key squeaked in the lock as it turned and I was secure in my cage.

Before the footsteps began to recede, I heard the Arl offhandedly comment, "Even scarred, your sister is quite impressive. Had I not other commitments at present, I might be tempted to steal her away from Ser Manning. Such eyes, such lips…"

"Yes," allowed my brother, his voice becoming softer with distance, "but Manning has his own desires regarding my sister. You would not wish to offend to loyal and able an ally."

"True, true…" agreed Arl Boese before the rest of their conversation was lost to me.

I released my feigned smile when they were safely gone. My face hurt, the muscles in my cheeks had been tighter than lute strings. I commenced pacing, fuming, "Dumb animal, indeed. You will find me unwilling to be schooled by you or anyone. _Damn you, you slimy toad! May the Fade take you! May you be beset by demons! May you be thrown into the deepest dungeon of the Black City! May the Maker himself forsake me if I do not do all in my power to thwart you myself!"_

I was jerked away from my cursing by the sound of a slight gasp at my outburst. I turned to see the two serving women regarding me with wide, wary eyes. The two women were near the bed. Kanara had collapsed into a chair and was perceptibly trembling, as if her long silence had built to the point of bursting. The other woman, Derora, was patting her on the shoulder in a comforting gesture. In my ire I had completely forgotten that I was not alone in this cage and I felt ashamed by my lack of control.

Softening, I approached them calmly, "I apologize for my outburst. I did not intend to frighten you."

"No, Lady," Derora muttered, "it is not you. Kana is gravely frightened of Boese. Serving you has enabled her to escape being in his direct presence. It was unexpected that he would come here at all, but he capriciously insisted on being presented to you, even though Arlson Ronan insisted you were still too weak from your injuries."

I barely avoided snorting at the thought of my brother being concerned, but the woman continued, "I cannot remain long, they will return to collect me and escort me back to the kitchens. They do not trust me to lock the door."

"Has it always been thus, or is this just for my benefit?" I asked.

"Boese has had guards closely overseeing the servants for quite some time. He does not trust any of us. Perhaps he fears we will turn on him after having been abused for so long." She shrugged, "This Aviary was long ago cleared when its caretaker supposedly displeased him. He had the poor woman kill all the birds and then bake them into pies. He ate the pies for a number of weeks and forced her to sit in his presence every night and witness him dining on the meal she had made. It was too cruel…"

The stifled, soundless sob interrupted what Derora was relating, and I dropped to my knees before Kana to see if she was in pain. She had a hand clamped over her mouth and her eyes squinted shut over flushed, flooding cheeks. The woman was shuddering with the violence of her emotions, so much so that I feared it would make her physically ill. I cast a worried look to Derora who had commenced rubbing her shoulders and cooing over the woman. I followed suit and held Kana's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Eventually the torrents subsided into little puffing gasps and Kana sat up straighter, rubbing her watery eyes with clenched fists.

"I am sorry, Kana," Derora apologized quietly, "I should not have spoken of it knowing how greatly it distresses you."

Kana's only reply was to shake her head, returning to her feet abruptly, bustling about the room again. She busied herself with collecting and arranging dishes on the tray for Derora to take away with her. Derora waited on me, serving me a bowl of soup.

Cautious not to further upset Kana, I whispered between sips, "Am I correct in surmising that the woman was Kanara?"

"Yes. It nearly broke her. She had been mute since birth and always loved the sound of bird song. He was completely unreasonable over an imagined slight and would not be dissuaded. He has always been thus: smiling one moment and enraged another."

"My father is almost preferable. He may be a monster, but at least he never deviates."

She nodded, "It is always easier to withstand the demon you know, but I am familiar with your father as well." She did not elaborate beyond that, but her mouth was a thin, grim line.

After a moment she stated, "I confess to being curious about something: the Aviary has always had one key. On your arrival they added the bar and bolt per your brother's request…"

"He may have wanted some reassurance that I could not escape, even if I should attempt to pick the lock." I replied wryly.

"Can you pick locks?" she asked incredulously.

I smiled demurely, "I may wear the plumes of a lady, but I have long since left that life behind. When one must eat, one does what is necessary…"

She looked at me a moment, her mouth opening and closing as if not sure what to say to my disclosure. Blinking, she ventured, "However did you get snared again into such intrigues?"

"My heart drew me when my head would have had me fly in a direction far opposite." I did not wish to unburden myself further to this stranger. She seemed sincere, but who could tell what she would repeat if coerced, so I did not speak further.

For a moment she seemed as if she might speak further, but a banging on the door and the sound of a key turning signaled Derora's required departure. She gathered the dishes and hurried out the door to escape my cage. I could not fault her eagerness.

I wandered to the window as the day began to wane. The sky began to turn gold before allying into rose and amethyst hues. Before the light faded, I squinted to the north and could barely discern the glittering blue of a distant sea beyond the mountain sentries. Musing, I considered that travelling South to escape back to Herfirien might be fool hardy and the Frostback Pass could well be impassable with the onset of Winter…but the sea was not unreachable.

My head had begun to ache, so I returned to the small bed and sat down, noticing a nearby pallet that Kanara slept upon. The woman was sitting on a stool in the corner, fiddling with a loop of string. Her shoulders stooped slightly and some of her dark hair came loose from her plait, falling across her brow and casting a dark shadow across her eyes. She seemed so distant and isolated that I longed to close the gap between us, but how does one reach out to a stranger?

"Kanara," I called to her, causing her to lift her face to meet my eyes, "Derora mentioned that you enjoy music. Would it please you if I sang?"

She studied me a moment with an edge of suspicion, but shrugged her shoulders, implying that she did not care before returning her attention to her string.

I began to sing a song that I had been taught by my late husband, Thomas. He had told me that the song had been created by rebels that had served Queen Moira in her various camps. Its sense of defiance fit my mood and encouraged me, but I could not maintain my voice for long. It irritated my already achy head and Kanara made no move in response to my singing.

Reclining back onto the bed, I resolved to myself, _"You were not the only fox in our den, Ronan, and I have learned the nature of foxes from the oldest. I will be free yet, regardless of your plotting."_


	68. Interlude 22: Let Us Hang All Tyrants

_**Interlude 22: Let Us Hang All the Tyrants**_

_**Ferelden Folk Song**_

___Let us hang all the tyrants,_

_ Hang them high by their heels,_

_ `Til their faces turn red_

_ And they wish themselves dead,_

_ Knowing then how all Ferelden feels."_

_ Let us hang all the tyrants,_

_ So their robes flap in the breeze_

_ And they are chilled to their bones,_

_ Apart from their thrones,_

_ Turning blue as their fingers freeze._

_ Let us hang all the tyrants_

_ So they can truly look down_

_ As we stand beneath,_

_ Strong in our belief,_

_ Mocking a head without a crown._

_ Let us hang all the tyrants_

_ Ye women and men_

_ Let them remain as a warning,_

_ To look at morning after morning,_

_ That we will not suffer tyrants again!_


	69. Chapter 46: Recognized and Resolved

**Chapter 46: the Recognized and the Resolved**

**_Murchad Crewe_**

When we arrived at Heidrunscap I was shocked at how hideous it was. Walking through the gates of the blockade we were confronted with the vision of the mine entrance. It was a gaping maw cut into the side of a mountain that towered in a high arch. On the sides were the remnants of a gate, so long neglected and weathered that the wood was as gray as the stone and splintered. The gate had brass and copper brackets and hinges that were near black with tarnish. Smoke was belching forth, as if it were the mouth of a monster breathing foul air.

"That is not good," muttered Sellose beside me, "the last Dwarven mine I was in did not have all this smoke."

I mulled over what had been said before pointing to a woman being carried out of the large entrance on a litter carried by two ragged men, "This is not a Dwarven mine, Friend. If the Templars are controlling it, it is probably far worse within."

The woman being removed from the mine was muttering; her eyes were glassy and stared as if she could see things that no one else could see. Her skin was pale and she looked too rickety to work with heavy lifting, but a Templar at the entrance quickly examined a cord dangling from her belt, holding it gingerly between his fingers, and ordered the men carrying her, "Take her to the healer. She may rest for a while, but then she has to go back. The knot marker shows that she has not met her quota for today."

"But…she cannot work like this. She can barely lift her bowl and, even if she could, she has no sense of what she is doing…" one of the men tried to reason with the stern Templar.

"Unless you want to take her place among the sifters, then you will do as you are told."

The man looked frightened for a moment before hanging his head in defeat. The pair carried the woman to a tent pitched close to the mine entrance and gently lowered the litter to the ground by the flap. A harried man immediately exited the tent and examined the woman. He was dressed mainly in skins, his attire indicating that he was an Avvar and not from one of the farming villages. He looked grave and worried, his braided tresses falling around his shoulders in a thick black mass.

As Manning approached with us in tow, the man called out to him brazenly in impeccable Ferelden, "You have the gall to refer to my people as savages, and yet we would never treat our own so shamefully. This woman is so badly poisoned from the mine that she may not survive until sunrise and, if she does, she will be an empty husk of the woman she used to be. How can you justify this?"

"Silence, Apostate," commanded Manning, "or I will rescind my previous mercy upon you and put in in the mines as I did your predecessor!"

"Do that, Monster! When you dragged me here three moons ago you had no healer and your workers were dying far faster. Perhaps it would be better for me if I embraced the same fate as the others. I seem to be serving a greater evil by prolonging their suffering under you!" He raised his hands to Manning, inviting the same shackles that graced our wrists, "Here, chain me and drag me into the embrace of the deep darkness. Do it and spare me the shame you have steeped me in. My gods will be far more merciful than yours."

Manning growled, "Cease your blasphemies before I cut out your tongue myself. I am not of a humor to stay my hand when so tempted." He waved the man off, opting to ignore him rather than argue further.

The man made frustrated gestures at Manning's retreating back that were foreign to me, but I could ken from the enraged expression that it was probably the sign of a curse. The man then returned his attention to the woman, though I could hear a cadence of moaning coming from within the tent. The healer was fraying at the edges and, if his words were any indicator, those luckless souls who had been forced to work in the mines were becoming very ill as a result.

My attention was brought back to our situation when Manning charged the Templar overseeing the entrance into the mine, "Ser Fiske, I have two more inmates to work with the sifters."

The Templar squinted at us a moment before asking, "Would it not make more sense to have them work with moving the rubble. They appear stronger and could use men in that capacity. The sifters are mainly women."

"Heed me and do as you are told," Manning spat from atop his horse.

The man inclined his head in a shallow bow, intoning, "Yes, Knight-Commander." He took the leads to our chains from Manning's outstretched hand and we followed him.

We were led into the darkness and smoke. I could sense Manning watching us until we disappeared from sight, reassuring himself that he would not lay eyes on us again, though I had to puzzle over his choice of assignment. If he wanted to rid himself of us, why did he not choose to relegate us to the more strenuous, back-breaking work?

The acrid smoke brought tears to my eyes and I coughed, nearly choking on the sooty air. The air was thick and it took me a moment for my eyes to adjust as I stumbled in the murk. Sellose caught me by the shoulder once as I pitched forward.

He mused, "I had thought climbing a mountain was rough. At least on the outside I could both see and breathe."

We went from the entry tunnel into a larger antechamber. Large torches blazed from ancient sconces and we peered over a crumbling ledge into the cavern below. Laid out before us was some kind of ruin: stone houses and rubble strewn about. A large statue of a blocky figure lay on its side. Half of the face was fractured and a disembodied stone hand gripping a hammer lay on the ground beside it.

Sellose nodded, "Well, this was a Dwarven city at one point. This must be one of the lost thaigs that we heard about."

"What is a thaig?" I inquired.

Sellose explained, "Before the darkspawn came, the dwarves possessed a wide expanse of underground cities called thaigs. They were all connected by a vast network of tunnels: the Deep Roads. As the darkspawn multiplied underground, they began attacking the Dwarven cities and drove the dwarves out. There are only two Dwarven cities that remain now: Orzammar and Kal-Sharok. I believe there is legislation in Orzammar to rehabilitate and resettle another thaig … Kal'Hirol was the name. Something happened there recently, if the reports from Vigil's Keep are correct, but I am hard pressed to remember the details."

"How do you know so much about the dwarves?" I inquired; startled by the information he was sharing with me.

"The dwarves are a nation unto themselves and we have trade agreements with them. A leader should always know the people he must negotiate with. Besides, in my previous life we had far more contact with the dwarves because of the darkspawn. I was trained how to navigate the Deep Roads and during the Blight I had to deal with Dwarven politics." He reasoned as we walked.

It had been a shock to discover Sellose's true identity. I was still struggling to deal with the information and not begin panicking over the situation. We had agreed that I would continue to address him as Sellose for fear that the Templars would overhear us and discover his identity. That had the potential to gravely complicate our situation. The stakes were high and we needed to find a way to get him out of here and return him to Denerim, and yet his concern was for my sister and mother's welfare. It conflicted with everything I anticipated of a king, but it was simultaneously comforting. He cared for Mae and would do his best to aid her. We were not beneath his notice: he was one of us.

"Stop your yammering and keep walking," commanded the Templar from over his shoulder, jerking the chain impatiently.

We followed dutifully, but as we walked I noticed that Sellose studied the walls and structures. Occasionally he would reach out and run a questing hand over the tunnel rock. It was as though he was assessing everything and his brow furrowed with thought.

We were led down various inclines, through numerous doorways, staggered around a few labyrinthine tunnels until we came to a large cavern. A black river flowed through the bottom and turned a monstrous wheel that looked to be made of some queer metal that had a blue sheen to it. Between the moving wheel and the rushing water, there was a cacophony of splashing and creaking. There was also a series of wooden chutes and scaffolding there were not of the same quality as the other Dwarven structures, so I assumed that they had been created and added recently for the current work being done. The chutes stretched from a various smaller tunnels at the upper levels and they dumped water and debris down. The water from the chutes was brackish in color before it hit the river.

"Orzammar has something similar, except the river consists of lava. It definitely made things warmer. This is probably why the walls felt so damp. There must be a series of subterranean rivers intersecting here," Sellose reflected more for himself than for my benefit.

After walking down a series of walkways along the side of the cavern, we reached an encampment at the bottom by the water's edge. A long line of women kneeled at the edge of the river. Each woman had a pile of sandy debris and took scoops of it and poured it into a bowl. The bottom of the bowls appeared to be made of a fine cloth and they poured water into the bowl over the debris with a tin cup and made a circular motion with their arms, causing the water to sieve out of the bottom and into the river. The carefully examined the remains in the bottom of the bowls, picking out choice fragments of rock and then toss what they desired to keep in a bucket to the other side of them. Once the bucket was full, they would carry it to a wheeled cart and dump the contents inside. A woman stationed by the cart would then tie a knot in a chord that was attached to the sifter's belt; I was able to deduce that this series of knots kept track of how many buckets each woman gathered. Once the scorekeeper bestowed the knot, the sifter returned to the riverside. They looked like sleepwalkers going through the motions of an intricately repetitive ritual, giving no indication that they were aware of us or even of one another.

A Templar paced behind the women, casting them furtive glances until we approached. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Ser Fiske a withering glare, barking, "What are you doing here?"

"The Commander sent me down with these men and ordered that they should be put to sifting." Fiske explained meekly, seeming embarrassed by his charge.

The other Templar laughed mirthlessly, as if he had to force the sound out and it was either laugh or cough, "And what would he have me do with them? Their hands are too big and clumsy. They would probably lose more than they would gather. No! Take them to Ser Claridge and have them move scree from the Fell Tunnel."

"But Ser Manning said…"Ser Fiske began to contend.

"If the Knight-Commander should deign to lower himself to enter these humble halls, then I will take responsibility for it. However, he is so concerned with the world above he has forgotten us mortals he has consigned to the earth. He is truly beginning to resemble the Maker, as is his aim." The man disparaged Manning, taunting him harshly.

"Belth, the prisoners will hear you. What you are saying borders on being seditious!"

"Sedition is what brought us to these climes," the Templar bemoaned, dropping his voice slightly, "I have not seen the Maker's sun in ages. Every time I stagger from these caverns the sky is roofed with stars. I have forgotten what the light feels like in this night shrouded existence."

"This is necessary…" Fiske hissed, "Now resolve yourself, Ser!"

The angry Ser Belth swallowed back some of his ire and put on a chastened mien, "I am resolved. Forgive my outburst, but I stand behind my assertion: they must be sent to clear the tunnels and help to mine the ore. It does not make sense for them to be assigned here in an area that does not take advantage of their strength. You know that I am correct."

Fiske reluctantly nodded and concurred, "I agree, his order seems to lack sense, but he is our Commander. If he should find out…"

"He will not find out. He never comes here and will not discover that we have adjusted his order. If he does, I swear I will take the blame." Belth sighed, seeming very weary.

"Understood," Fiske replied, turning on his heel, affirming, "I will bring these men to Claridge."

Thus we were brought to another angry Templar who threw buckets and pick axes at us, attaching us together with similar shackles to the ones we had worn previously. My heart sank when the new chains were placed on us and I looked at Sellose, regretting that we had not escaped sooner when we wore the shackles that corresponded to the key that he held under his tongue.

Sellose seemed not to notice my worry, but focused on examining the tunnels, the other prisoners and our tools. He looked at the downcast faces of the men and women working and his face grew dark. When we had been left by the Templar in a tunnel with six other miners, instructed to find translucent blue veins in the stone and pile the enriched ore into buckets and drop the leavings on the tunnel floor, he gritted his teeth. Ripping his shirt off his back, he tore it into large patches before doing anything else; exposing his recently branded skin that still looked raw and red over his heart in the shape of a sword of mercy. The others with us stared at him in shock as he tore his own shirt into long strips and distributing them among us.

"What are we to do with this?" asked a balding man with a slight tremor in his hands.

"Tie it over your nose and mouth," he instructed, illustrating it by doing it himself, masking his face.

I regarded the long scrap in my fingers and gasped, "Why?"

The eyes that regarded me looked hard and angry, "To limit the amount of dust we breathe. The less dust in our systems, the better it will be for us. Today we will work; tomorrow we will find a way out of here."

"Why must we avoid the dust?" I pressed, confused.

"Lyrium," he spat, "They are forcing us to mine lyrium!"

I felt myself shiver, a sense of horror washing over me, "Raw lyrium can kill people."

"It is killing people! That is why they have had to raid the villages, because they need to regularly replenish their spent workers. That is why the woman was carried out of the mine on a litter. Anyone coming into contact with the stuff is slowly poisoned by it, but Templars are addicted to processed lyrium. These rogues are not sanctioned by the Chantry, so they are not supplied lyrium and trying to arrange deliveries from Orzammar might draw attention to what they are doing here. In order to feed their addiction, they have enslaved these people to mine it for them but these people know nothing of how to properly process or treat the ore, and they do not have the resistance to it that the dwarves possess. Bastards!" He was heated and began to swing the pick viciously. "The sifters are handling it more closely than the miners, so they probably deteriorate faster. That is why Manning wanted us to be sifters, even though they tend to be exclusively women. If we deteriorate fast, he will be rid of us that much faster, but the other Templars are not aware of his personal reasons for desiring us to be out of the way. They just assume we are like any other prisoner here. His secrecy worked to our advantage in this instance."

"How are we going to get out of here? They put new chains on us. The shackles will not match the key." I argued, growing more and more frightened with each new realization.

"The key matches," He reassured me, "Manning is the Knight-Commander and they always have one master key and a spare. His second in command, in this case Ser Fiske, also carries a copy of the master key. The noble Ser Manning probably has not realized that his key is missing because he so rarely uses them himself and leaves the management of the mines to Fiske while he works as a diplomat between Arl Crewe and Arl Boese, keeping them apprised of the Templar's activities."

My chest felt tight as I choked, "So my father knows what they are doing here…"

Sellose stopped and turned to me, seeming to gauge his response before he spoke, "Yes Murchad, I believe your father is fully aware of what is happening here and is endorsing it."

I closed my eyes against how they stung, which had nothing to do with the smoke in the air. I was filled with a sense of shame. My father was knowingly allowing people to be sent to their deaths, people he was responsible for, people who had served him and grew the food he ate off his table. I had always accepted the fact that he was cruel and attributed it to his nature, but had never known how completely vile he was and my feeling of disgust was overwhelming. It seemed so senseless.

"How does he think we can survive if he relegates all these people to the mines? The villages farm the food that the arling needs." I sputtered, feeling a rush of despair.

Sellose shrugged, "There is more to all of this. With the things that Ronan said to Manning, there seems to be something larger afoot."

"Larger than this?" I demanded, stretching my arms wide, indicating the whole of the mines.

Sellose nodded, taking another swing at the rock wall.

The people we had been in the tunnel with had listened to our entire exchange and they seemed as stunned as I, but for entirely different reasons. One woman exclaimed, "You are one of the Arlsons? Your father is Arl Crewe?"

I looked at her and felt sick. This was one of the people my father had allowed to be dragged here and I fought back the moistness in my eyes and intoned, "That man is no longer my father. I no longer recognize him as the root of my being! I despise him! Never again will I refer to him as Father!" The violence of tone caused the people to draw back slightly, staring in wonder.

"You are going to free us, then?" another man asked, his words edged with a vain hope that he seemed reluctant to recognize.

Suddenly uncertain, I looked back at Sellose and he affirmed, "Yes, we are going to find a way to free all of you. This I swear!"

"Who do you think you are?" a man asked sarcastically.

Straightening, Sellose pulled down his mask and stated stoically, "I am the King of Ferelden and this injustice will not stand!"

As unlikely as it might have been, I truly looked at him in that moment: his countenance, his posture, the righteous light in his eyes. Even with no shirt and torn breeches, his body covered in dust, he looked like a king. Recalling the previous day, I had seen him cut down darkspawn in battle to defend me and a defenseless woman valiantly. In my heart, in that moment, I embraced the truth that I had been told, but had found difficult to accept: this man was _the_ King, _my _King. I could not resist but take a knee before him, bowing my head, "I swear, I will serve you! I will follow you to the Dark City itself, if you but ask!"

The other people with us followed my example, clearly awed.

When I raised my head and looked him in the eye again, he gazed down at me and his eyes were determined, "Rise! I have not earned this honor yet, but I will."

"How can we escape?" one woman breathed brokenly, tears soaking her voice, "This is hopeless."

"Someone has already escaped, and she was near muddled with lyrium poisoning. If the water can find a way out, then we can find a way out, but I need to come up with a plan. It is not enough that a handful of us should escape. We need to get out as many people as possible. For now, we must continue with the guise of being defeated, we must work until I can examine the defenses and create a plan. I am relying on your secrecy to keep us safe."

This was a gamble, but my unguarded words to the ragged King had brought us to this point. There was no turning back now. Recalling the words of Ser Belth, I affirmed evenly, "I am resolved."

The others repeated what I spoke and Sellose… King Alistair Theirin… nodded, accepting our fealty.


	70. Chapter 47: Scattered Pieces

_**Chapter 47: Scattered Pieces**_

_Bruna_

_When the lost pieces are miraculously discovered, it is not always joyous._

It had been late when Morrigan stormed into the encampment, west of Cloughbark, her presence almost crackling with electricity as she berated the scouts who had been tasked to discover the Templar's movments. One man was carrying a small, pale figure that I did not immediately recognize. I saw first the cloak and my heart leapt into my throat. It was made of light gray woolen fabric, but the stitching was distinctive. It was familiar because I had woven the fabric and stitched it with a very strong thread. It was the cloak I had made for Mae, thin in spots after years of wear, but still recognizable.

Rushing forward to peer at the face concealed by the hood, I did not realize I was holding my breath until I looked fully at the countenance. Though it was not Mae, the face was still familiar and I rasped, "Letha?"

She was unconscious, cold and pale, except for around her neck. There I noticed angry red ligatures pressed deep into her skin, implying the use of a rope: someone had tried to hang her. The comprehension made me ill.

I claimed her from the scouts arms, her birdlike body feeling impossibly light in such old arms as mine. Against my chest I could just barely discern shallow breaths moving her form as I rushed her into my own tent. Morrigan followed me and reaffirmed, "She lives, though it was not due to those clumsy louts I was forced to scout with. We found her strung high up in a tree and lowered her down when I realized she had not succumbed to her treatment. She was conscious until shortly after I had examined her on the ground. We probably discovered her just in time. I did what I could, but I am no healer."

Pressing a pair of fingers to the side of her throat, a fluttering beat answered. She was weak, but, except for the obvious near strangulation, I could discern no further injuries. I began to gently rub her hands, hoping to encourage the warmth back into them. Morrigan, seeing my ministrations, commanded a man to boil some water and mimicked my actions with Letha's feet. If we could restore some of the circulation to her limbs, pinken her pale skin, it might help to stabilize her. After a moment she gasped, as if the action caused her some pain and it reassured me that she had not gone completely numb.

When she seemed less pallid, Morrigan left us to see to the water. We had taken to boiling and straining our water in the hopes of lessening the amount of lyrium within, but there was no way to completely purify it. Since I had been apart from her for such a space of time, I could not be sure if her body had been further corrupted by the lyrium inherent in the Cauldron's water sources. To expose her further could cause her to be trapped in sleep like many of the Avvars I had already been tending. Further lyrium could permanently unhinge her mind, but she could also not live without water.

Morrigan returned with a warm cup of water and I quickly steeped some tea in it, hoping the herbs in the tea might further counter the effects of the trace lyrium in the liquid. Gently lifting her up, Morrigan assisted in steadying her so that I could bring the cup to her lips and enable her to drink. Some of the liquid dribbled out on either side of her mouth and I gently rubbed a spot behind her jaw, encouraging her to finally swallow, taking in the warming fluid.

Letha reminded me of a rag doll bereft of saw dust, but slowly she began to respond to Morrigan and my ministrations, through mewling sounds and twitches of action, but she remained unconscious. Her state was particularly distressing for she had already been weakened by her poisoning. The hanging should have killed her, and yet she survived. What had sustained her was mysterious.

When her breathing became deeper, as that which accompanies normal sleep, I felt myself relax. She was alive and resting comfortably. There was nothing left for me to do, but let her sleep and hope she would awaken with time. Drawing the cloak up to her chin like a blanket, I ran a gentle hand over her thin blond hair before crawling out of the tent.

"Observing your care for the woman, I presume that you know her," Morrigan baited, angling for information to sate her curiosity.

"Ser Grey and I had come across her in the woods a few days before you encountered us at the abandoned village. At the time she wore tattered Chantry robes, which led us to believe that she was one of the sisters that had initially refused to leave the Cloughbark Chantry. She was suffering severe lyrium poisoning, worse than that of the Avvar villagers that still sleep," I shook my head, "She had been beaten. It is my assumption that she had been in the Templars' custody but had managed to escape."

"Then she was probably in the mine. If what you say is true, then perhaps there is more to the lyrium taint in the water. I could not be sure what the Templars were mining, thinking that the lyrium may have been a symptom of the problem. Mayhap the lyrium is the cause…" Morrigan was speaking, putting the pieces together in her mind.

"The Templars are mining lyrium, then," I stated, the certainty of it settling on my shoulders, making my neck tight.

Morrigan nodded, "Only dwarves know how to process it and have the resistance to be able to manage lyrium in its raw form. If the Templars are mining it and do not have dwarven workers, it seems most likely that they are forcing their captives to mine it for them. The people mining are exposed and becoming poisoned. If they are dumping their waste into any water sources within the mine, it may be seeping into the underground channels feeding the water that the Cauldron drinks. They do not realize that they are not just poisoning their laborers; they are poisoning everyone and everything. How did you become separated from our wayward sister and why did you not mention her before when you spoke of your missing knight?"

"It did not seem to relate prior to this moment. She had become frightened by a dream and had run into the woods. The other knight had gone to retrieve her, but they had not returned by the next day when you had found us." I explained, though I knew it was not the entire truth. I had suspected much of what Morrigan had spoken, but had been reluctant to share any information when I was so uncertain of her motives.

"That is not your entire tale, I wager," Morrigan astutely observed, "but keep your little secrets if it comforts you. Our little bird might be able to help us far more than I had anticipated when I found her."

My eyebrow skewed warily before prompting, "Meaning?"

"If it is as I believe, then she has been inside the mines. If she escaped, I doubt she escaped through the main entrance of the Heidrunscap fortress. It is reasonable to assume that she found her way out of a tunnel that led to the surface, the egress being near to where you discovered her. With a small party of men, we could infiltrate the fortress from such an entrance, sabotage the defenses and enable the rest of our Avvar warriors to have an advantage when performing a frontal attack," Morrigan smirked, "All we must do is locate the tunnel entrance."

"How would we do that?" I inquired, stepping to place myself between her and the flap of the tent, not trusting the eager glimmer in her eyes.

"She will lead us!" Morrigan seemed triumphant in her deduction, making as if she would brush past me and re-enter the tent.

Grabbing her wrist as she reached for the flap, I hauled her upright. The glare in my eyes gave her pause as I avowed, "You will not disturb her, regardless of your plans. She is ill and too weak to be moved anywhere in safety."

"We need her!" Morrigan spat, regaining some of her fire, returning my glare.

"Is it truly _we _who need her, or is it only _you _that need her?" I kept my voice steady though my eyes further narrowed.

She drew in a long breath and I braced myself for the tale she intended to spin, "I am here to assist my Avvar brethren in their plight."

My laugher barked harshly, "I am too old to be fooled by your ilk, Mage. I was trained by a mage far wiser and more powerful than you. Her instruction was not wasted on me."

"You think you know so much," the words were acrimonious and accusing.

"I do not know much, but I know enough," I stood my ground, "and if you want any help from me you will be truthful with me. What are you hoping to find in those tunnels?"

She seemed to lose some of her security in that moment, her shoulders sinking slightly while she worried her bottom lip a moment. Suddenly she was uncertain, but the moment was fleeting. She put on a brave face again and stated haughtily, "There is a relic of immense power in those caves. I require its aid."

"How is it to aid you?" I probed, slightly worried at the thought of Morrigan possessing anything of power.

"Does it matter?" she countered.

"_Yes, it matters!"_ I wanted to shout into her face, erase the haughty smugness that she used as a mask by laying before her the stark reality of interfering with artifacts. My people have told many stories of fools stumbling across an object that appeared beneficial only to have it turn on them. It is the intemperate wish. It is the gift wrapped folly. It is the dangerous bid for safety that caused more harm than protection.

However, this was the most honesty that I had been able to glean regarding Morrigan's motives and I worried that if I pushed too far, she would bolt and we would lose her. She was like a young child, feigning experience, when in actuality she knew very little. It was this that I distrusted. A person trying to shelter in a cave might find a bear rather than safety. She was rushing headlong to find something to save herself and that could potentially hurt both her and the rest of us if she tried to wield something she did not understand. Her pride and inability to ask for help could doom all in the Cauldron, if allowed an edge.

"Child…" I started in measured tones, only to be interrupted.

"Child I am not!" she fumed suddenly, her ire burning like a sudden strike of lightning.

I closed my eyes and took a breath, releasing her wrist and putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. My gesture caused her to step back, just beyond reach, but close enough that we could still look at each other. I tried to continue, "Unless you learn to trust someone, you will fall alone. I am more than willing to help you, but I can do nothing if you do not learn to confide in me. If you are in some danger it would be better to speak of it to a friend. I wish you no harm, but I will not allow you to potentially harm others in your blind panic."

"I do not panic. I have faced down hordes of darkspawn. I have helped to fell the archdemon, Urthemiel. I was schooled by Flemeth in how to wield power…" and that was the moment when I realized the danger that she was in. Conscious of how much she had inadvertently revealed, she suddenly pressed her lips together, turned on her heel and walked into the woods.

The Avvars knew of Flemeth. She had haunted the Chasind for ages and we had ears; we knew of her power and her penchants. I had no doubt that Morrigan spoke true in her unguarded passion, but I wondered exactly how much Flemeth had instilled in the girl. If the girl was running from Flemeth, I doubted there was anywhere she could go to aptly escape from the woman, if she were truly a woman. Knowing this, I also knew how deeply Morrigan's fear probably ran. For the Avvar she was a legend, though a potent one; for Morrigan, familiarity had the potential to breed true terror. She would know first hand what the old woman of the Wilds was capable of.

A deep sense of pity swelled in me for the wayward mage girl, for she was a girl regardless of what she claimed. More than likely Flemeth raised her to be such, only knowing a few scattered pieces of the puzzling plot. It was most likely the not knowing with certainty that plagued Morrigan.

She would return, knowing the depth of her situation I could reassure myself of that with certainty. I decided to allow her to regain her composure rather than run after her, hoping that with time she might seek me out.

At that moment, I determined that I must go to Ser Grey, inform him of Letha. It was my hope to ease how distraught he had become over her whereabouts. This disquiet drove him to relentless lengths to train the Avvar warriors that had been brought to him. He pushed them, trying to teach them perfection of form and his example encouraged a fierceness in the men that eclipsed any fear in the inevitable onslaught that would come when we challenged the Templars.

While I had been tending to Letha and conversing with Morrigan, the scouts had already reported to him. He had dismissed the drilling for the day, as dusk was beginning to coalesce in the sky and one could not train when one could not see. He sat brooding by the fire at the center of our camp when I approached and claimed my usual seat beside him.

"The scouts spoke to you," I observed.

"Yes," he said, looking at the flames instead of at me.

"Did they bring word of the Templar fortress?" I inquired, since I had not the opportunity to gain that information from Morrigan.

"Yes," he looked weary as he closed his eyes and cocked his head to one side to stretch the muscles in his neck. The tension was etched in every line on his face.

"And…?" I inquired, wanting him to continue.

"It has at least twenty armed Templars on the walls. It was unclear about the forces beyond them. The walls themselves are logs driven into the ground, which means they can burn. It offers more of an advantage than if they were stone. There are tents within the walls, they assumed they were either for the Templars or the workers. Those too can burn if flaming arrows breech the walls. It is the mine beyond that is the rub. If the forces fall back to that mine, it would be far more defensible position. We do not have the men for a drawn out siege." He laid out his thoughts before me as a scroll.

"Did they mention anything else?" I inquired, wondering if they had mentioned finding Letha, though they could not know who she was.

He nodded, "They said they found signs of darkspawn. Those creatures were roaming Amaranthine during the spring. They attacked the city and the city itself had to be burned to the ground to stem the taint. They had dispersed, but if they are still above ground here, it could present complications to our plans. If they were to suddenly attack us, it could cripple us even before we meet the Templars."

I understood his worry. We had very little contact with the darkspawn during the Blight, but we had heard of Lothering and the destruction they wrought. The taint was worse than the lyrium saturation these people were currently facing. Combined, the Cauldron could soon become unlivable.

"They also found a woman," I offered, considering carefully how to inform him that would cause him the least amount of distress.

"Yes," Grey acquiesced, "they found a woman hung in a tree. They said she was barely alive. It is not unusual for darkspawn to string up someone." His words belied impatience. He did not wish to dwell on thoughts that brought forth images of the darkspawn, I wondered what he had seen during the Blight, but it was not important at that moment.

"I do not believe it was darkspawn," I stated; after a steadying breath and I added, "It was Letha."

For so weary a man, he jumped to his feet and turned eyes to look on me, to measure the truth of my words. He gasped, afraid of the answer, "Is she…?"

"She lives and is resting comfortably in my tent," I reassured him, taking his hand in mine and guiding him back to his seat next to me, "she is very weak, but hopefully she will recover in time."

For a moment, he covered his face in his hands, breathing heavily, trying to regain control of the emotions that had run away from him. When he was reasonably satisfied that he could speak again, he added, "They mentioned seeing no sign of anyone else near that tree. If the king…if Sellose had been there, he would not have permitted any to touch her. He would never have allowed harm to come to her. If she had been in that tree…"

"There is more to it," I interrupted, feeling some of the dread return that I first felt on seeing them carry Letha into camp, "she was wearing Mae's cloak."

It was Grey's turn to take my hand, "Are you sure it was Svenya's cloak?"

I smiled ruefully, "I spun the wool, wove the cloth, and sewed it together with my own hands. I am as certain of it as I would be if I had seen her face. She gave Letha that cloak. If she made it to see her mother, it might be that they came into contact with each other in the castle at Herfirien. The mercenary had implied that they had caught Letha and Sellose together. The castle would have been the closest destination rather than going straight to Heidrunscap."

"Or they are dead…" Grey rasped, trying to maintain his madly slipping control.

"No," I stated, feeling my own certainty envelope me, "they are alive. I would feel if it were otherwise."

Grey shook his head, "I wish I could believe such a reassurance."

I placed a gentle hand on his cheek, causing him to turn his head to face me, "If you have not faith in me, have faith in the man that you know the king to be. It is the one reassurance we have left. Mae and his majesty are strong and not likely to fall without a fight. You are right to surmise that they would not willingly allow harm to come to Letha, but it does not necessarily guarantee the worst. If nothing, Letha is a sign of hope."

"Then perhaps they were brought to Heidrunscap," he allowed, "but how can we fight through stone to get to them? A siege on a castle is one thing; a siege on a mine is far more daunting. A head on assault is suicide."

"Perhaps there is another option…" I offered, thinking back to the conversation I had with Morrigan. I related to him what she had deduced and he grudgingly allowed me to pull him from his despair.

"If Letha is unconscious," he countered, "then how could she help us find the tunnel. Even if we were to help her regain consciousness, she was near mad with the lyrium poisoning when we discovered her. She probably would have no recollection and, as it is, she can barely remember her own name."

"There are other ways," I reassured him, taking his hand again and squeezing it, hoping it would bolster him, "all that is necessary is that we retrace our steps. I will go with a select few men, Morrigan and Letha when we are reassured she can travel. You will continue on to Heidrunscap. At midday on the next week's wane, you will attack the defenses at Heidrunscap. We will make sure it will fall. If not, we will fall with you."

"It would be risky for you…" Grey argued, his concern wringing something in me and I smiled.

"Do not worry, Ser Lion. I am an old bird, but if necessary I can become a badger. I will not fail you. You have my word." I tried to be playful, but we both knew the gravity of what I was offering.

Without further conversation, he lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the palm before standing and walking into the shadows. He too, like Morrigan, needed to think over the danger we were steeped in and it did not rest lightly with him. He could not do so before my eyes, regardless of the trust that had grown.

We had become a mutual anchor for one another, and I realized how loathe I was to leave him, but I knew that if we did not take this chance we would not succeed. It did not make the impending separation easier to withstand. He was a good man. He would do the right thing in the end, regardless of his reluctance. He would send me away and remain stoic throughout, but I knew that he would feel that distance acutely, as would I.

How queer to find this so late in life. It should have been comforting, but it gave us so much more to lose.

I rubbed away a hasty tear, placing my hand against my cheek, fooling myself that I could still feel his warmth.

I returned to my tent to wait for both Letha to wake and Morrigan to return so that I could begin preparations. Morrigan would be gratified that our intentions still walked in the same direction and I was relieved that I could maintain my watch on her. Perhaps I would discover the mysterious object and either help her to obtain it or shield her from some unforeseen malevolence.


	71. Interlude 23: The Raven's Treasure

_**Interlude 23: The Raven's Treasure**_

_**Avvar Folktale**_

_ The Lady of the Skies favored the birds, though she cared for all creatures that lived and died in the land. She could be equally moved by compassion and by wrath. As such, she created balance among the creatures, gifting each special talent that suited their natures. Some creatures took advantage of their gifts with care and some utilized their gifts foolishly._

_ To the raven, Cadfarra, she bestowed cunning and fleet wings. The only bird that could fly faster than Cadfarra was Blodewedd, the owl. Blodewedd's wings carried death and whispered it in the nightmares of the other animals. To the ptarmigan, Kiiru, the Lady gave a humble and giving heart, but the bird was not swift of wing. She also gave the bird the ability to hide among the grass and rocks so that it had the chance to remain safe when the owl scoured the land from the skies with keen eyes. _

_ Kiiru fell in love with Cadfarra, and desired to court her, but the raven laughed at the little fat bird, mocking him mercilessly. Regardless of Cadfarra's cruel laughter, Kiiru continued to pursue her, earnestly desiring her love. This caused Cadfarra to laugh at him more for his stubborn tenacity. _

_One day, Cadfarra sought out Kiiru and offered, "You still profess to love me, oh stalwart fowl?"_

"_Of course," Kiiru affirmed, "my Dark Lady. You are most beautiful to me. Have you decided to relent and bestow your favor upon me and become my bride?"_

"_I have given it great consideration and I am willing to marry you on one condition," the raven smirked at her humble beau._

_The chubby bird could not contain his enthusiasm, "Name it! Tell me your desire and it shall be my aim to fulfill it. I would even crawl to the center of the mountains to bring forth any treasure you could wish."_

"_Ah, then what I ask of you would be quite easy in comparison," Cadfarra taunted, her smile becoming wider, "When you beat me in a flying race, then I shall be your bride."_

_If it was at all possible, the pale bird grew even paler. He shuffled his feathered feet and hung his head. However, he agreed to the terms of the race, hoping that a miracle might occur and he would win his deepest heart's desire._

_It was all for naught! For a time, Cadfarra held back and refrained from flying fast in order to boost Kiiru's hopes. He had short bursts of speed causing him to pull ahead, but the race was longer than he could maintain. At the last instant, Cadfarra the raven stretched her wings so they caught a swifter breeze and she soared past Kiiru and crossed the agreed upon marker first. _

_She found a branch to perch upon, but the ptarmigan, in his despondency, sat upon the ground. He wept in disappointment as Cadfarra laughed in the tree above him and taunted, "What made you think, oh foolish fowl, that you would ever beat me? You are too fat and your wings are too shallow. You hop far better than you fly. Perhaps you are more rabbit than bird?"_

_This time, the cruel turn of her words was too much to bear. Kiiru sobbed great gasping croaks into his wings. The sound was so pitiful that it caused a mole to poke his head from his hole to discover the source of the commotion. He looked from Kiiru to the cruel raven and listened as the black bird continued to needle and mock the grieving bird._

_Filled with indignation on the part of Kiiru, the mole bawled up at Cadfarra, "Why do you feel entitled to torment him so?"_

"_I am a queen among birds. Only one, Blodewedd, can best me in the air. Any who cannot compete should remain earth bound with you lesser beasts," she answered disdainfully._

_Siors, the mole, shook the dirt from his hide, waddled out of the hole and shook an angry fist at the raven, "What do you mean by lesser beasts? You are just as likely to be a meal for Blodewedd as the rest of us; more so if you consider that you pass your time in her realm more than we. You are not beneath her notice."_

"_I would rather be Blodewedd's meal than grovel in the dirt," Cadfarra laughed haughtily at the mole, lifting her beak in an airy, "caw, caw" that echoed off the mountains._

"_The soil has treasures the likes of which you will never see," Siors spat at her, his mind forming a plan to humble the raven, "At the roots of the north mountain lies a shiny stone that is so bright, it seems to have captured a rainbow within its core."_

_Though the raven would never admit it, mention of the shiny stone piqued Cadfarra's interest. She nonchalantly questioned, "Where did this stone come from?"_

"_When the Mountain Father buried his heart, the Lady of the Skies cried great tears for his folly. The tears fell to the ground, seeping down to find the missing heart. Though the heart was eventually retrieved, the tears remained, hardening until they became stone." Siors explained this, knowing the raven's weakness for shiny stones. He assumed that her inability to dig up so great a prize would drive the haughty raven mad._

"_Such a great treasure does not belong to the lowly ground," Cadfarra stated, staring down her beak at both the mole and the ptarmigan, "it originated in the sky and to the sky it should be returned. I shall see this done."_

"_How do you intend to do this, oh haughty one?" Siors inquired, cocking his head before reminding her, "You have no claws with which to dig. The only thing your skinny feet can do is make thin scratches to try to unearth worms. I have no intention to aid you and you have abused your admirer to the point where he would be mad to offer you help. Alone you cannot hope to achieve your aim."_

_Again, Cadfarra laughed at the pair sitting on the ground beneath her, "I do not need your help, nor would I be foolish enough to ask for it. I shall acquire the stone on my own. When I have achieved this feat, I will carry the stone and return it to the sky so that it can sparkle with the stars."_

_The mole and the ptarmigan shook their heads in the face of the raven's bravado before she could laugh at them further. The ptarmigan returned to his nest on a rocky ledge among scrub grass and the mole burrowed down into the earth again. Cadfarra continued to chuckle softly to herself until her humor abated and she began to consider her dilemma._

_She would never admit it, but Siors had been correct: her thin feet and full wings would not allow her to tunnel into the ground. However, she was cunning, and knew of many animals that could dig in the ground and would be able to gain access to the stone. As she considered all her possibilities, Brocha the badger came waddling through the forest looking for food to prepare for the winter._

_Cadfarra swooped down and greeted the badger, "Good day, Cymam.* How are you this fine day?"_

_The badger was reasonably suspicious of the raven's sudden friendliness, but was still curious as to what the raven really wanted, so she replied, "I am well, Winged One. I am attempting to glut myself with food to sustain myself for winter before I build my nursery burrow. What has drawn your attention to me?"_

"_So, you will be digging a nursery for your young?" Cadfarra simpered, trying to sound sweet, "You will need to find the perfect spot so that none will be able to disturb you. You will also need to line your nest to help keep your young warm."_

_Brocha was quite old and could tell that Cadfarra was attempting to manipulate her. The raven, however, spoke true: she did need to find something warm to line her nest to keep her young warm when they were born. If she could find a way to use the situation to her advantage, Brocha could trick Cadfarra into helping her._

"_What you say is quite true," Brocha confirmed, "if only I could find the perfect spot for my nursery. It requires much digging and is so exhausting."_

"_As it so happens," Cadfarra offered, "I know of the perfect spot. It is said that the area near the root of the north mountain would be the best when making a burrow, or so I have heard from a mole. They are skilled diggers, like yourself."_

_The mother badger nodded her head, "You could be right. If I were to make the entrance in the dirt and angle the tunnel down, it would limit others digging straight down into my home. That however leaves the potential problem of having what is necessary to line my nest."_

"_I am sure we will think of something," the raven reassured the badger, fluffing her feathers._

"_Yes, I am sure we will think of something," agreed Brocha, eyeing Cadfarra's feathers thoughtfully._

_The pair made their way to the base of the mountain. On reaching a likely spot, Brocha began to dig and Cadfarra watched the badger's progress. Occasionally, the raven would make pointed suggestions on the proper way to dig the burrow or when the badger should improve her digging angle. The badger remained silent, conspicuously ignoring the raven as she tried to consider a way to get Cadfarra to surrender her feathers for the nursery nest._

_When the badger had disappeared from the raven's view, the bird began to pace at the mouth of the tunnel, calling down periodically to inquire about Brocha's progress. To these inquiries she would receive the occasional grunt from the busy badger. Craning her neck down the opening she listened for hours until finally the raven thought she heard a satisfied sigh far below, accompanied by silence._

_Gingerly, Cadfarra tottered down the tunnel in search of Brocha. Loose dirt fell onto her head and into her wings, causing her to ruffle her feathers to dislodge it. Her patience was wearing thin as she groped about in the dark, following the curve of the tunnel down deep. Eventually the thin tunnel opened out into a wider chamber, where the badger lay in the middle of the floor, panting after all of her exertion in digging._

"_Is this it?" the raven whined._

_In the darkness, the raven could just see Brocha open her black eyes. They seemed to glow with a dim light, even in the pitch black. The badger regarded the bird for a moment before grumbling, "This is my nursery, but as we have both observed, it is missing something."_

"_Did you find anything here while you were digging?" Cadfarra inquired hopefully, seeming unaware of Brocha's statement._

"_I did find one thing. There was an immense stone that I unearthed. I am resting my head on it, for it feels warm against my fur. Perhaps I will keep it so that it can help to warm my young when they are born." Cadfarra could not see the skew of Brocha's eyes as she spoke, gaging the raven's reaction._

"_No…" the raven cut in before recovering her composure, "something hard would not be good for your young. They need something soft to snuggle."_

"_I have nothing soft here," wheedled the badger, "and this stone is so warm."_

_Cadfarra stood silently for a moment, frantically trying to discover a way to convince the badger to part with the stone, "Perhaps we could make a trade. My feathers would be able to line your nest and it is soft enough for your young to snuggle into."_

"_Oh, I do not think you have enough feathers equal to the value of the stone's warmth," Brocha replied._

"_I have many feathers!" the raven argued, "I could give you all my feathers and it would be more than enough to compensate you for the stone."_

"_Are you sure?" the badger questioned._

_With that, the raven began to pluck her feathers from her back with her beak. Each tug caused a brief pain, but she desperately wanted the stone. After so many tugs, her skin became numb to the sensation and her dark plumes littered the floor of the wide chamber. _

_Eventually the badger interrupted the raven's impassioned plucking, "I think this will more than suffice, my kind bird. These feathers will keep my young quite warm. Here, you may have the stone to recompense you for your kindness."_

"_Thank you," Cadfarra panted before picking up her prize in her beak. As she began to hobble up the tunnel she thought to herself, "_The furry fool! She has no idea what she gave me and all it cost me was a few feathers. They will grow back in time. The tear of the Lady is MINE!"

_As Cadfarra emerged from the tunnel, the chill autumn air caused her to shiver. The pale moon gazed down into the clearing making the grass and trees seem strangely stark. She stretched her wings and hopped into the air, only to come crashing back to the ground. The impact caused the bird a sickening realization that she had plucked too many feathers in her eagerness and therefore could not fly. To make matters worse, the stone glittered in the moonlight, making the raven even more obvious on the ground for sharp eyes._

_Her eyes widened in panic when a familiar shadow crossed the sky. Blodewedd was hunting in the moonlight and Cadfarra was painfully exposed to the owl's merciless gaze. The raven hobbled for cover within a copse of trees and cried quietly to herself around the gorging stone in her beak, the tears flowing down her now pink patched cheeks. _

_She had to find a place to hide, but where could she go? She refused to return to the Brocha's tunnel for fear the beast would change her mind and take back the stone in exchange for shelter. Cadfarra could not fly to her nest high in the fir tree without wings. There was nowhere else she could go, except…_

_It was a humble raven that approached Kiiru's nest among the scrub grass on the rocky crags. Clearing her throat, she attempted to call sweetly, "Oh friend, would you be willing to offer shelter to your beloved?"_

_The ptarmigan was quite startled when he poked his head out from his nest to see the scrawny raven hoping from one foot to the other. He could not resist, he began to cackle and guffaw with great gulps, rivaling his previous sobbing. It echoed to the skies and skittered across the rocks. _

_Cadfarra stood there mortified, hanging her head in shame, no longer haughty._

_When the laughter had subsided, Kiiru invited the chastened raven into his home, along with her hard won treasure. Through that winter, she lived with him as his wife, but when spring returned and her wings were full again, she left her kind husband to return to her solitary existence._

_Some say she fulfilled her promise and returned her stone to the sky. Some say that she left the stone behind in the ptarmigan's nest in thanks for Kiiru's kindness, with it was also an egg for the bird to treasure. Some say that the raven still returns to her humble husband when the snows become deep and all other places are closed to her._

_Regardless of what you believe, we all know that Kiiru can still be heard on clear nights with gales of croaking laughter whenever he thinks of his foolish wife and how she looked that night when she appeared humbled at his feet, plucked of her pride._

* * *

_*Cymam: An Avvar term of endearment or respect for an older woman meaning, "Wise Mother."_


	72. Chapter 48: A Man Among Dwarves

**Chapter 48: A Man Among Dwarves**

_**Nathaniel Howe**_

I am sure there was an old story that Adria told Delilah that involved a princess and a group of dwarves. It was a peculiar story where the dwarves helped the princess to overthrow the wicked king and retrieve the kingdom that was rightly hers. The dwarves were fierce warriors, all of them wielding jeweled mauls that were specifically crafted by their ancestors for them. Each of them were noble and wise, they each solved a great puzzle that held the great treasure in a vault deep in the earth. The treasure, a relic of immense power, enabled the princess to defeat the forces of the wicked king with minimal bloodshed. The princess became a wise ruler, but the dwarves returned to the deep stone from whence they came, never to be seen again.

As I walked through the damp tunnels, flanked on all sides by dwarven companions, I recalled the story from my childhood. Other than the dwarven presence, my situation had serious deviations from the story. Instead of eight dwarven warriors with mauls, my companions were far more diverse representatives of dwarven life. The only one that came comparatively close to the stereotype created within the story's mythos was Oghren: a warrior true, but he was also a drunken, axe wielding sot whose bodily functions amused him far more than the rest of us. We also had a mad dwarven explosives expert, Dworkin, who would occasionally giggle to himself if he came across rare lyrium sand samples that he gathered for his experiments. Voldrik was a surly, exacting, dwarven stonemason and architect who was accompanying us to examine some of the ruins in Heidrun Thaig to gain greater insight into his craft and how it could be applied to the tunnels beneath Vigil's Keep. Those two had brought their cousin, Temmerin, whose purpose seemed to be commiseration for the architect and a second set of hands to prevent the explosives expert from blowing us up while working as an apprentice.

We had one senior warden, Seok, who had been assigned to us from the Anderfels, serving as a cartographer, sent by the Warden Counsel to create more recent maps of the Ferelden area Deep Roads. The most recent maps dated back to the Storm Age, during Sophia Dryden's tenure as Warden Commander of Ferelden and the rebellion that resulted in the Wardens being banished from Ferelden until King Maric's reign. Having someone chart the current layout of the Deep Roads (taking into consideration recent collapses, flooding and erosion) was very necessary for any planning to navigate the paths in the dark.

At the last moment, a dwarven deshyr from Orzammar requested to accompany us. The Warden Commander allowed it as a favor to the Assembly and to encourage recruitment among the dwarven community. Lord Enion Lemmink, whose weapons seemed to be purely for decoration and prestige, was the one slowing us down and offered no helpful skills (other than his pomposity) to make up for the delays. During various points I had to convince the others to _not_ drop him down some conveniently abandoned shaft.

Out of them all, the most useful was the perky, _"dead"_ rogue who was my main source of support on this expedition. Sigrun had previously been a member of the dwarven Legion of the Dead before she had been recruited by Lucasta. (I suppose once one has been established as being dead, there is no point to being morbid.) At least the Legion had taught her how to fight and I did not have to worry about her accidently disemboweling me with a drunken swing. I had been relieved when she had been assigned to this expedition, for I considered her as an equal in both skill and common sense. She could handle Oghren's crude jokes, appease Voldrik and take point to scout in the dark.

Another thing that made this journey quite different from the fairytale was the various struggles with darkspawn. There are no darkspawn in fairy tales. Darkspawn lend themselves to nightmares or Chantry allegories more than to fairytales.

It also occurs to me, the fairytales never describe the Deep Roads realistically. In stories the walls of the caves are encrusted with glittering gems. There is no need for torches in fairytales because the tunnels are filled with ethereal light from rare lichen glowing in crevices at regular intervals. In reality, it is dark and dank. The only things encrusted on the walls are the occasional darkspawn spew or excrement. It is _**never**_ pretty or romantic.

We had been sent to explore a section of the Deep Roads near to the abandoned Heidrun Thaig. Since the fall of Amaranthine and the defeat of the Mother, Warden Commander Lucasta had gravely regretted letting the Architect leave alive. We had limited intelligence on the being at the time and were reluctant to destroy a darkspawn that exhibited the ability to reason. On receiving further information from Weisshaupt, our mistake became clear. There existed records transcribed by an elven mage named Fiona outlining a previous encounter with the Architect, revealing that he had previously tried to unleash the darkspawn taint upon all of Thedas en mas. If this was any indicator, he was capable of further causing unfathomable damage if allowed to remain at liberty.

When Lucasta had informed me that she had selected me to lead this group into the Deep Roads in hope of locating the Architect and gaging the threat his current activities could pose, I was inwardly tempted to ask what I had done to offend her. The prospect of shepherding a herd of dwarves through the Deep Roads was not daunting as much as maddening.

"Who else would you recommend I send?" Warden Commander Lucasta inquired, seeming to read my concern, "I cannot rely on Oghren to take the lead. Sigrun is capable but lacks experience in a leadership position. The cartographer is a long standing Grey Warden, but should have someone to focus on providing protection."

"You are not sending a mage?" I prompted.

She shook her head, "Velanna is currently visiting some of the Dalish clans camping near Ostagar. Anders…" She looked troubled. He had disappeared and had not been seen for more than a fortnight, as I well knew. There were few Grey Warden mages stationed at the Vigil during that time. The only other notable Grey Warden mage in the region was Avernus stationed at Soldier's Peak, and his specialization was research.

"Never mind," I withdrew my concern, "I will lead the expedition."

"The purpose is to gather reconnaissance, allow for Seok to complete his maps and Voldrik will need to get rock samples to study. Make sure that neither Oghren nor Sigrun execute Lord Lemmink in a spell of pique, regardless of whether he deserves it or not. If you should find signs of the Architect, do not engage him, rather strive to discern his intentions and take note of his resources. It has become too quiet, too soon since the siege on Vigil's Keep. We might have wiped out the Mother, but the Architect could have hatched an alternate plan in the interim." She was meticulous in her instructions and I nodded as each point was laid before me.

Noticing a glaring oversight, I questioned, "What about Dworkin? You said that he was to come."

"Yes, Dworkin," her mouth crooked to one side, as if confronted with a challenging puzzle, "the official story is that he is going to research explosive components."

"Is there an unofficial story?" I prodded politely, prepared for her to dismiss me without explanation.

Surprisingly, instead of commanding me to depart and make preparations, she sighed, "News has come to us that his studies have begun to draw attention from a particular quarter…a foreign quarter. They are disturbed by his advances. They find it threatening."

"You mean the Qunari," I stated.

She nodded, "There is concern that they may strike against him, whether secretly or openly we are not sure. After all that has occurred in the last six months, I owe the man. Aside from that, his knowledge is too great an asset to lose. Even without the Qunari, others have raised an interest in his current studies and the danger is that his research could be used for political purposes. It could give an unfair advantage to many that would utilize it for unethical ends. He needs to disappear for a time until we can discover a better solution to this dilemma, find a place where he will be able to pursue his passions without fear of reprisal. I hate to lose him, but something has to be done."

"Understood," I reassured her, "thank you for trusting me with this, Commander."

"You are the only one I can trust with this, Nathaniel." She admitted, before standing and turning her back to me so that she could look out the window.

The action she had taken would have been construed as dismissive or disrespectful by some, but it meant something different to me.

After returning from the Free Marches in the wake of my father's betrayal, few trusted me. My last name meant that I was related to one of the greatest traitors of my country's history. I had no way to appeal to the court to prove myself. I had to sneak into my old home in the hopes of retrieving some of my family's effects and I had been caught by the Wardens. They would have been within their rights to execute me, but the Warden Commander saw something in me. She recruited me, though I was insolent and rude to her. She took me with her, gave me the opportunity to defend her back, she offered trust where no one else would; she listened to my counsel and exhibited respect. She could turn her back to me because she trusted me that much. She could make herself vulnerable to me knowing I would not take advantage. Her back to me was the greatest compliment any could pay.

"I will take my leave of you, Commander and inform Sigrun and Oghren of the orders." I bowed slightly out of my habitual respect for her, though she would not be able to see it. I left and closed the door quietly behind me.

* * *

"We are babysitting a dwarven noble?" Sigrun near groaned in disbelief.

"It is necessary," I stated, hoping that would end any further resistance, only to be sorely tested.

Oghren prefaced his statements with a loud belch, "I remember Lord Lemmink…he had a reputation for carrying a big sword in hopes it would make up for…"

"Don't!" I cut him off, "We must treat him with respect…"

"…whether he deserves it or not." Sigrun finished with a growl.

I sighed, "I know how you feel. I have been embroiled in politics since I was a young child. This is necessary; this is what the Commander has asked of us. I need you at my back, Sigrun. We need to perform the reconnaissance and protect those under our charge."

"Alright, Nate," Sigrun allowed, "I will follow you and I will respect the Commander's wishes, but I swear, if he so much as…" she did not finish for she did not need to. There was a distinct understanding between us that often went beyond words.

"Eh," Oghren clapped me on the shoulder since I sat next to him, "you are one of the few humans I can stomach. I respect you. You know I have your back. Now…are you going to get me another pint or what?"

* * *

So, in this story I would have played the exiled prince among dwarves and I have discovered a significant advantage to being a dwarf in the Deep Roads. Some of the passages are quite narrow and small. Many times I had to crawl, while Sigrun and the others remained upright. Compared to them I felt unwieldy and awkward. Standing over a head taller than them dis not instill a sense of superiority in me, I felt like a fool.

"Funny," observed Sigrun when we camped at one point, unsure if it was night or day because of the lack of a sun to signal such delineations, "I am often surrounded by humans now that I live on the surface. Much of the time I am the only dwarf in the room. It always makes me feel so small, near invisible, almost insignificant. What is it like for you to travel with a troop of dwarves and be the only human, Nate?"

I smiled ruefully, "I feel unnecessary, to be honest. You and Oghren are well adapted to these tunnels. Dworkin and Voldrik are surface dwarves, I realize, but even they have an innate sense of movement here. They know the stone. It is in your blood. Seok does not even need light to complete his sketches, he does it by feel. I am in awe of all of you. You do not need me and it baffles me as to why the Commander would bother to send me."

"That is where you are wrong, Nate," Sigrun sat down next to me, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees so that the firelight highlighted her facial tattoos. "As you say, the stone is in our blood, but that is not always good. The stone is a record, it has memory, and we share in it. Stone is a heavy thing to carry, Nate. A thousand thoughts crowd around us: traditions, obligations, passions, failures, and it insulates us on a certain level, but it also makes it hard to see beyond it. You do not carry the stone, as we do. Because you are free of the stone, it enables you to carry us when it is necessary. No pressure or anything!" She smirked slightly, elbowing me in the side, trying to coax a smile to my lips.

"You think I am up for this, then?" I asked.

She smiled widely, "Would I have agreed to baby-sit that pompous windbag if I didn't? How many times do you think I have refrained from giving him a swift kick in the stones because it would distress you? If not for your presence, Nate, that blowhard would have barely made it into the tunnels."

I could barely argue with Sigrun, Lord Lemmink's thinly veiled disdain for us all had succeeded in alienating him from the entire party. He had tried to give orders to Sigrun and Oghren as if they were servants. He pointedly ignored the Glavonak brothers, seeming to feel they were beneath his notice because they were surface dwarves. It is probably a good thing he did not insult them, or he might have been left an explosive surprise by Dworkin, regardless of Temmerin's attempts to keep him from "wasting supplies."

His behavior was not shocking to me, he behaved exactly the same as many human nobles I had observed, my father included. Rather than argue or berate him, the rest of us seemed to come to a silent agreement to ignore the man, though I think Oghren struggled with it more than the rest of us.

Occasionally Oghren would make it a point to put Lemmink at the end of the line and stand just ahead of him so he could cast his "bodily odor" in the proper direction. The man would sputter for hours and Oghren would claim we had come across a patch of fowl air given off by naturally occurring vents in the stone. I'm not sure if the man believed Oghren, but he never argued with the explanation, preferring to sullenly glare in his direction.

After a week we came to the outer borders of what the maps referred to as Heidrun Thaig. The strange part about it, we had only come across a handful of darkspawn the entire time. The quiet in the Deep Roads was eerie and made no sense. The darkspawn attacks in Amaranthine had all but dispersed. For months there had been nothing reported, allowing Vigil's Keep to focus on recovery. However, the lack of darkspawn on the surface meant there should be more amassing in the Deep Roads. We had come across too few for it to be possible. If they were not in the Deep Roads, where were they?

"This is…odd," observed Seok, "I sense no darkspawn close by. We have come across so few."

"Perhaps the humans had killed off more during the Blight than we initially thought," offered Lord Lemmink. "The dwarven warriors that assisted reported that large numbers were dispatched. This is good news for Orzammar if the darkspawn numbers stay this low."

Sigrun shook her head and cast me a glance out of the corner of her eye, "I do not like it, Nate!"

"Nor I," I concurred. "Something is terribly wrong, here."

"We are not going to make sense of this standing around and jawing, ladies," spat Oghren, "If they are hiding, we'll find them."

Voldrik glanced at the map over Seok's shoulder, "There is a narrow tunnel further down this way," he gestured with a finger towards our right, "I would like to examine the rock there rather than take the wider route. If there are darkspawn hiding in wait, they are likely to congregate in a larger entrance."

"Fool, going down a narrower tunnel could put us at a disadvantage if we become boxed in," spat Lord Lemmink.

Dworkin sidled up to the Lord and grinned, "If it gets too narrow, I can always widen it." He lifted his satchel suggestively with a gleam in his eye that made Lord Lemmink swallow hard and raise his eyebrows worriedly.

I glanced at Temmerin to get an idea of how serious Dworkin was being and was only met with a shrug. Dworkin had his moments where he would explode something first and ask questions later. He was very meticulous and his aim was usually accurate, but I suspected he enjoyed the corresponding explosion a little too much when his handy work went off. It was odd how such a small man could make an entire party shudder.

Stepping forward, I concurred with Voldrik's observation, "I think we should go with the narrow route. In the event we meet with resistance we can cross back and have Dworkin cover our escape with some well-placed explosions. However, if we can, I want us to draw as little attention to ourselves as possible. We are here for study and reconnaissance, not to engage the enemy needlessly."

Most of the others seemed satisfied with this, though both Dworkin and Lord Lemmick exuded an air of disappointment: Dworkin thinking that he might not get the opportunity to blow up darkspawn and Lemmick worrying that he might not gain the prestige of cutting down darkspawn with his ancestral blade. For both it was a matter of pride.

As we wandered the tunnels surrounding Heidrun Thaig, I felt the emptiness. There seemed to be a pale echo of the taint, implying that the darkspawn had been here at one point, but that was all. For some reason the darkspawn had abandoned the thaig. It seemed strange, unfathomable, what would cause the darkspawn to flee?

There was a tunnel sloping down and we took it, thinking that perhaps a deeper vantage might reveal hiding darkspawn or some kind of reasons for their disappearance. It was at this point that we saw a frightening sight that turned our blood cold. We did not find darkspawn, we found something infinitely worse.

There was a being (I am not sure what else it could be called) made up of a glowing blue core surrounded by free floating rock. The rock made the outline of loose limbs, arms and legs, on which it ambled about. It wandered, seeming unaware of us, allowing us to examine it from a distance. All with me were initially struck dumb by the sight of it and I signaled for them to remain hidden behind the outcroppings of the tunnel until we could discern clearly what it was.

"What is that thing?" I hissed at Seok, since he was the most experienced with Deep Road exploration.

"I never thought to see one as long as I lived," he breathed, near transfixed watching the creature, "there are records in the libraries of Weisshaupt, accounts of some scattered Grey Wardens that have come across them. Few actually took them seriously, thinking it was some kind of madness borne from being in the old caverns more saturated in lyrium. Seeing one, witnessing it first hand, it is an exquisite horror."

Sigrun's brow furrowed, "So they are not some kind of golem?"

"No, they are something else, something more primitive." Seok replied, unable to take his eyes off the being as it walked to and fro, as if passing interminable time and unable to stand still.

At that point, of all of us, Lord Lemmink found his voice and used it to shriek in panic. He was overwhelmed at the sight of the creature and could no longer contain himself, "It is the spirit of the stone, the wrath of the Ancestors given form! It will destroy us!"

The being, having previously taken no notice of us before, suddenly turned on hearing the terrified screams of the man as he ran back from whence he came, nosily scrabbling and tripping on loose schist as he went. The rock spirit turned toward us at that moment, revealing a pair of burning eyes, slowly building intensity on witnessing us cowering behind the rocks.

It thundered forward, swinging impossible limbs that should have flown apart with the force of the swing and yet remained intact. It slammed a roughly hewn fist upon the ground, causing the cave to shudder and me to lose my footing. I shouted at the others, "Voldrik, Temmerin, Dworkin, Seok, fall back. Try to catch that fool before he brings a horde down on us as well. Sigrun, Oghren, to me!"

Voldrik, Seok and Temmerin followed my instructions readily, but Dworkin merely laughed to himself, perching on a higher outcropping, riffling through his satchel for something, muttering, "I had thought darkspawn would be the peak of my excitement. This is marvelous!"

"Who wants to live forever, eh?" Oghren shouted, throwing himself head first into the creature, swinging wildly, distracting it from the rest of the retreating party. _"Prepare to be ground into rubble!"_

"Nate?" Sigrun turned my name into a question, helping me to my feet, hastily trying to determine if I was injured.

"Don't worry about me," I growled, finding my feet again, hastily drawing my daggers, "try to move around the perimeter, get a blow in from behind."

"It's rock, Nate! This is not something that will easily succumb to a back stab!" Sigrun argued, barely managing to keep her own fear in check, morphing it into a type of annoyance that she could far more easily process.

"Not so," I argued, pointing, "its core is more exposed towards the back of it. If I am correct, whatever that core is, it is probably akin to a heart. It may be the only thing holding it together. I cannot but sure, but it is the only option afforded us at present."

"On it!" Sigrun nodded, accepting my quick reasoning. She left me then, trying to blend with the cavern shadows cast by the queer glow emanating from the monster, moving beyond the creature's notice so she could come in behind it without drawing attention to herself.

I took point with Oghren, darting in occasionally for a blow, only to be repelled by erratic swings and hearing my blades clink uselessly against its surface. Oghren bellowed and swore, swinging, literally chipping away at our assailant, preventing it from getting around him to follow the others down the tunnel. However, one enraged swing and the red bearded dwarf was sent flying into a nearby wall with a clang from the impact. His axe clattered to the ground and Oghren made not a move.

The beast took one rocky step in his direction and I screamed at it, hoping to draw its attention, "Come on! I'm over here!"

There was the scraping sound of rock against rock as it slowly turned its head in my direction, its arm drawing back to swing. It was at that moment before the swing that it occurred to me that Oghren had strong enough armor and a helmet that would have enabled him to survive the impact of the creature's fist. My dragon-skin armor, however, would never protect me from such a forceful blow. I dove out of the way just in time and the rocky fist made contact with the tunnel wall just behind me, causing debris to rain down from the ceiling, a piece of it striking me hard near the ear, dazing me.

"Pick on me, you nug-snuggling bastard!" I just managed to discern Sigrun's voice shouting, the sounds of rocks making impact with the back of the monster's head with sickening accuracy. The thing turned from me and focused its attention on my companion, exposing its back with easy access to its glowing core. I staggered to my feet, trying to focus my wavering eyesight to make a blow at that bright target, but I paused when I heard a near hysterical laugh.

"Better get clear, lad! That beasty is going to experience something explosive!" Dworkin's voice warned as he smirked at me from his rocky perch above, raising high a spherical device in his hand, beginning the action of throwing it.

I quickly staggered to Oghren and managed to drag him behind some nearby boulders, hoping it would shield us from the blast. All the while I was screaming over the scraping of Oghren's armor against the floor, "Sigrun, take cover! Dworkin is using a…"

My warnings were cut off by the explosion and the subsequent rocking of the stone floor beneath my feet, resembling that of a boat on a stormy sea. The entire tunnel shuddered and I held tight to both Oghren and the boulders we were using as shelter. Amid it all, I could hear the mad dwarf's celebratory laughter, shrieking like the Fade damned.

When the tremors caused by the detonation subsided, I quickly scrambled to my knees so that I could examine Oghren, taking some relief in the fact that I registered some shaky coughs emanating from under his helmet visor.

"I'm alright! I'm alright! Just a tad winded is all! Takes more than that to fell ol' Oghren," he assured me through wheezing laughter as I lifted his helmet off him, revealing a superficial cut on his head that bled heavily but was not serious.

Satisfied that Oghren was stable, I scrabbled around the rubble of what was once the creature, calling, "Sigrun! Sigrun!"

**_"Answer, damn it all, woman!"_** Oghren piped up from whence he reclined, though weakly.

There was some coughing, and a pile of rubble shifted, revealing a hand groping out from beneath. I ran toward it, pulling some of the larger stones free. Sigrun had managed to dive under a small overhang of rock near the floor, shielding her from some of the collapsing stone. Her eyes fluttered open as I dragged her out and she smirked, "Don't worry about me, Nate. I guess I'm still alive. Funny how that keeps happening!"

"You are the longest lived, dead woman I know," I chuckled with relief.

"I'm the only dead woman you know, unless there is something you are not telling me." She quipped, groaning slightly as she tried to sit up.

I helped her hobble to Oghren just as Dworkin stated, "I'll go and see if I can get the others to come back here. Wait until Temmerin hears this: field test two-forty five was a success. This is a triumph!"

"Ugh!" I groaned in reply, questing with my fingers to discern if the lump on my skull was serious and satisfied myself that it was, in fact, a minor blow.

When the others returned to us, Seok had an unconscious Lord Lemmink slung over his shoulder. To my questioning look he explained, "I had to do it for the lout's own safety. He near cast himself over the edge of a shaft in his panic. _Damn nobles, blood thinner than water, has no spine…"_ he continued to mumble, disparaging all the noble ancestors and complaining that this was what was carrying forward the lines of his fast disappearing people as he abandoned the Lord's still form on the floor and began to sketch a rough outline of the chambers we were currently travelling.

Voldrik and Dworkin began to examine the remains of the creature, sifting through the wreckage. Voldrik placed a pebble between his teeth, trying to discern its constitution while Dworkin squealed with delight, like at child at Satinalia, handing samples to Temmerin to catalogue and stow in a pack. It continued like this for a while until Dworkin suddenly became serious, near grim, grabbing his brother by the wrist and pulling him away from the pile, warning, "Do not put any more samples past your lips."

I approached the pair as they began to speak animatedly over the rock, asking, "What is it? Is something wrong?"

Dworkin conspicuously put on a heavy leather glove from his pocket and picked up an orb of gray stone, with thin, palely glowing veins from near the center of the pile. He turned it around, looking at it very closely. The rock reminded me vaguely of the creature's glowing core.

"It is lyrium!" Dworkin finally explained, glancing up at me, "A very high concentration of it. I have never come across samples like this. It is near throbbing."

"Why are you so worried, then?" I countered, concerned by the seriousness that seemed so out of place in his usually excited mien, "Dwarves are immune to lyrium, aren't they?"

He shook his head, "Dwarves that live underground are immune for the most part. They are so surrounded by the stuff that they have developed a type of immunity. For surface dwarves, that tolerance begins to abate over time. Dwarves can be affected by lyrium regardless, if exposed to an unusually large amount or if it gets into the blood stream. There is one merchant, Garin from the Commons, whom I have had contact with in a trade capacity: he is lyrium touched because of an accident he had while crafting. It isn't enough to incapacitate him, but he will never be the same. If I were to have such an accident, it could potentially kill me or drive me mad."

"If it hasn't already," Voldrik snorted, though he looked disturbed.

"If this is a highly concentrated ore, could you not use this, Dworkin, to make a more powerful explosive," Temmerin cut in, eyeing the orb in the explosive expert's hand.

"Sure," Dworkin shrugged, though he still held the orb carefully, "but it would be suicide unless you had a long enough fuse to ignite it, and I'm not sure if there is a fuse long enough that would provide safety of that nature. I would be the first to admit that safety is overrated in the pursuit of knowledge, but this…."

"Then leave it here, brother!" Voldrik stated simply.

"But it is the potential," Dworkin wheedled, seemingly at war with himself over the sample he held in his hand, "how many of our kind have found such a vein? It is amazing."

"It is dangerous!" Voldrik spat impatiently.

Dworkin looked longingly at the orb before carefully laying it once again amid the pile and reluctantly backing away, "You are probably right, brother, but it seems wrong to abandon such a find. Think of what Orzammar would say of it. Think of what could be crafted with it. Think of the memories. Think of the history. Think of…"

"Think of the apprentices that you have blown to bits in your foolish fascination with the stuff. Think of the danger it poses, even if it were not used in one of your explosive mechanisms." Voldrik finished, crossing his arms.

"Bah!" Dworkin huffed, turning away from the pile and walking resolutely, though sullenly, toward the rest of the group, his brother and Temmerin trailing behind. The blond dwarf then shouted at Seok, "Make sure you take note of this place on your maps. I might change my mind and decide to return at a later time if the need arises."

Voldrik shook his head, "Hopefully there will never be a need so great, brother!"

"We'll see," Dworkin cast over his shoulder.

To see the trio so disturbed over the ore troubled me. I had always assumed that dwarves were completely impervious to lyrium poisoning. Mages used it in small amounts for casting, but did not consume it in mass quantities. Having the lyrium so close, its dust potentially filling the air with the sudden rock shifts, made the chamber seem more dangerous now than it had seemed before with the queer rock creature lurking within. I shook my head, trying to clear the muzziness that the injury had caused and commanded, "Let us leave this place and find somewhere stable to camp. If there are more of the creatures, I want to be far from here. We should take a tunnel cutting up. What say you, Seok?"

"If we retrace back, there is a likely shaft that should take us up a few fathoms, towards a more central spot of Heidrun." He offered, squinting at the maps briefly.

"Then that is where we will go," I nodded, my head aching, "after we have walked a few more hours we will camp. Sigrun, how are Oghren's wounds?"

"Bandaged! I only needed to use a small injury kit to stop the bleeding and help the flesh to knit." She replied.

Oghren chuckled, "You can play healer with me anytime you want, you saucy minx!"

"Yes, he is completely himself. He should live if I do not kill him first," Sigrun added flatly to me in response to Oghren's crude, though veiled comment.

Seok questioned, "Should we leave the dwarven lordling here?"

"No," I sighed, "I shall carry him in the meantime."

"Will you tell him about the lyrium?" Seok asked this off-handedly, as if it mattered not to him either way.

"No!" Voldrik answered in my stead, "None must know, particularly not those rock heads in the Assembly. I will allow the knowledge to be kept by the Grey Wardens, but those fools might be driven to try and recapture some lost dwarven glory by obtaining some of the stuff and bringing it back. I am not particularly happy about my brother knowing its whereabouts, but I trust them even less. No good can come of it."

Taking his statements under advisement, I said to Seok, "We cannot decide anything at this time. For now, assume that we will not speak of this to the Lord. By the time he comes to, I doubt he will remember any of what passed here, least of all his cowardice. It is best we do not disillusion him with details."

Sigrun ground her teeth, but I added for her ears alone, _"If both Voldrik and Dworkin say the lyrium here is too dangerous, I am inclined to believe them. If keeping this secret keeps others safe from the blundering political machinations of the Assembly, then that is what is necessary. You remember the reports of what happened when they reopened Caradin's research and tried to make another golem. This will be exactly the same type of situation. The only way we can be assured that the Lord will not ask questions, is if we pretend that this whole incident never occurred. I need your trust on this, if nothing else."_

"Yes, Nate," she agreed, "I just hate the thought of that lichen licker bragging about his prowess to his cronies when in actuality he ran like a spooked bronto."

I smiled conspiratorially to her, with a wink for good measure, "Do you think it will look any better if it gets around that he tripped and knocked himself unconscious on his own shield? That is what I intend to tell him and to send in writing in the report to the Assembly."

She smiled, comforted in my complicity, "Yes, I believe that will do. Thank you!"

"For a human, you certainly understand how us dwarves think," Oghren sniggered, assuring us of his agreement to my plan.

The others nodded solemnly when apprised of my plan, and, secure in the mutual agreement, we set out to find a safe place to camp amid the labyrinth of Heidrun Thaig.

If I had known what lay just beyond that chamber, if we had travelled mere yards further, I might not have been so eager to leave that place so soon. The maps themselves had a black smudge in that area that Seok had assumed was a result of a careless blot from the original cartographer. None of us had realized what the monster was guarding, and that knowledge could have changed the events of what was to come.

* * *

The following day, after we had rested peacefully and dealt with the irate Lord Lemmink, a lord who felt mildly insulted for having been carried by me like a sack of potatoes, we pressed forward into what looked to be an abandoned main commons for the thaig. Voldrik scanned the architecture and support systems, trying to make sense of the old fashioned beam work that his predecessors had utilized. There appeared to be strange pressure valves that he was completely baffled by; he had never seen their like before.

Dworkin had spent most of the travelling in discouraged silence. Temmerin tried to lighten his mood by asking questions and focusing on what the sad dwarf loved most: making explosives. Eventually the expert began to speak animatedly to his apprentice, outlining some simple mechanisms that could be rigged easily in the face of an emergency. The younger dwarf seemed satisfied that he had distracted his master from the brooding that had previously haunted him.

Seok would stop at regular intervals, sketching the trails and noting changes in the environment that the outdated maps had not taken into account. Peering over his shoulder, Sigrun brought our attention to a strange symbol: a large circle, resembling a bracketed wheel, lay in a particularly large chamber to the north.

"I am not entirely sure what it is," Seok admitted, "the few written keys for these maps have long since deteriorated until they are hardly readable. We will not know for sure until we reach that chamber."

It was at that point that we registered the sounds of rushing water. Leaving Sigrun behind in the ruins to watch over the others, I scouted ahead with Oghren, trying to discern the source of the sound. We crept carefully up into the large chamber delineated by the map and were able to tell instantly what the symbol had represented.

A huge water wheel was turning, groaning and grinding on its axis. It resembled the water wheels I had seen on mills on the surface that ground grain, except this wheel dwarfed those in its enormity. The sheer size of it stole my breath and unhinged my jaw. It was a marvel.

"Well, will ya' look at that?" whistled Oghren softly, craning his neck to take in the spectacle of the wheel as it turned.

At that point we heard the sounds of voices, harsh voices, shouting orders and rattling chains echoed up the chamber walls from somewhere below us. Peering over the edge of our ledge, we could discern far below figures kneeling next to the side of the river that was turning the monstrous wheel. The figures were intently working at something we could not interpret and behind them walked another figure; this one appeared hulking in comparison to the others, pacing like a wolf considering its prey. Torchlight glinted off of this figure, indicating that it wore armor, though I could not discern the make or design.

I should have been more careful. It should not have happened….

…but at that moment a hand suddenly clamped over my mouth, pulling me away from the ledge. I could just discern Oghren swearing threateningly at someone, struggling to unharness his axe from his back. Elbowing my assailant in the gut, I was greeted with the sudden groaning exhalation of air of a man without armor. He fell backwards to the ground as I spun to meet him, drawing my dagger in a fluid movement and holding it to his throat before I could get a good look at his face.

"Don't move!" I ordered in an angry rasp, trying to avoid alerting the people in the cavern below.

The man blinked up at me, still groaning, and his hands palms out, indicating that he was unarmed. His eyes stared back at me, not seeming the least bit afraid as he panted, trying to regain the air that had been forced from his lungs. He wore no shirt and his chest was branded with an angry red symbol resembling a sword of mercy.

It was at that moment I registered the sound of Oghren laughing, his words barely filtering through the pounding in my ears.

"Well, if it isn't the pike twirler!" the dwarf rasped, suddenly seeming unconcerned...amused even.

On hearing my companion, my would-be assailant turned his head slightly to cast startled eyes on the dwarf, croaking in disbelief, _"Oghren?"_

Startled myself, I leaned back turning my attention to my comrade in arms, confused by the man's recognition. When Oghren saw my own baffled expression, he could not help but burst in near humorous ecstasy, impossible to contain. At his elbow stood another man, seeming to reflect my own confusion, looking from the chortling dwarf to the stunned man I was straddling.

Finally, when Oghren regained enough composure to speak coherently, he advised me through a leering grin, "Nate, you had better get up and put that dagger away. You are squatting on the king of Ferelden."


	73. Chapter 49: Nature of a Partridge

**Chapter 49: Nature of a Partridge**

**Kanara**

When the Arlson came to me, he offered me freedom, comfort and a cottage far from Swidden. He offered me a berth as game keeper for Cloughbark, something unheard of for a woman, but he would give it to me. He said that he would bring Falconers from Orlais and they would train me to be a codger and how to care for falcons and hawks. If I showed promise, I would be permitted to handle the birds for hunting. I would be "Mistress of Mews" he said.

It was tempting. It had been so long since I had cared for birds, but these were birds with claws, I had been accustomed to song birds. I knew enough of the rocky crags to know what falcons did to song birds, stooping down from a blue sky on their unsuspecting prey. I had used a sling shot to frighten off falcons that took to roosting near the Aviary, since they were attracted by the singing of the birds.

With a somber eye and a shy smile, he promised I would never see Arl Boese again. Boese would never lay hand on me again. He would never dog my steps and haunt my dreams.

The Arlson knew what he was offering, as I'm sure most demons learn such skills. He offered me safety and renewed purpose other than cowering under the stairs in the kitchen. The man knew of Boese and had interviewed servants long enough that he heard all the old gossip. The foxish grin, with a quick flash of teeth, told me all I needed to know, though he hid his whiskers well enough.

There was an old tale of a fox that called to a partridge to come down from the tree, offering all manner of gifts if the bird would just keep him company for a time. The partridge kept refusing, for what bird would trust a fox enough to go to ground. It was not until a chick fell from its nest right into the fox's paw. The fox jigged gleefully, flaunting the shivering chick to the horrified bird. Seeing the hopelessness of the situation, the bird agreed to come to ground to save the chick.

The fox killed the partridge, as it was in its nature to do. The bird willingly sacrificed its freedom, its life, as it was in its nature to do. No one ever told me what became of the chick, if some other bird returned it to its nest or if the fox ate the boney, fragile creature since he had the power to do so. The tale always disturbed me, but it taught me something that I still carry with me.

The Arlson had bought Derora's goodwill and complicity. I know not the terms of their contract, but she readily agreed to slip the tonic into the gruel that she made for the morning meal. It would be enough to reduce the lady to senselessness. She would be caught in an interminable slumber, only broken by fitful waking to meet the designs of nature.

Such a slumber was not new to us: for some in the household had fallen into a deep sleep over the past months. They dreamed and withered away as they slept, until they were but a husk. Boese, having no patience or mercy, would have them cast out into the woods to their fates. Some would be collected by their families to die among those who cared. Others would disappear, probably taken in the night by the predators that frequented the woods.

My role required that I ensure she ate the gruel, causing her to remain asleep. It seemed a fair exchange, since I had no choice but to be silent. The food would sustain. I would cause no harm. I have never caused harm, even when sorely tempted. Sleep is sweet, perhaps one could see it as a mercy to those mewed. She would be unaware of the prison, for a bird robbed of the sky that is perhaps best.

Arrangements were made. The Aviary was refitted for a different sort of bird. We were both to be mewed together. The arlson insisted the furnishings be simple, "No point in spoiling the lady. He betrothed would prefer her to ape a Chantry sister – best that it resemble a cell, though I doubt many have such a view. So many windows…be wary my good woman. Mind that she does not fall…not that she is like to do such a thing in despair. However it should not be an issue for you will ensure that she rests comfortably, preventing her from causing herself injury or planning mischief. She will sleep well until the wedding day…"

She came to me like a crumpled half moon laid upon her bed: a baby bird in a solitary nest, defenseless from the predators that prowled these halls.

Once I thought Boese was the worst of them, but I had come to be unsure of my previous assumptions. He is the boar: all boast, bluster and brutality. He breaks things on a whim or blinded by his rage. He liked to admire the pieces and shiny fragments of his carnage, snuffling them with a rooting snout, trying to make sense of the disarray he orchestrated. However, his eyes seem absent of human sense most times – you can hardly blame an animal for following their nature. He is all beast trying to pass as a man, and I pity him for he knows no better.

His father had not been this way. He was a noble man, from the faded memories I tender. His mother, too, had been a good woman, doting to a fault, but oh so weak in her gentility. He had been no more than twelve years of age when he lost them both during a hard winter. He became master when he was hardly a young man and he was alone. He struggled to find a way, and in his fear of losing control and being weak, his fear made him harsh. There were no more sweet pleasures of family and love to gentle him. Rather than mourn it, he denied that it mattered. In his fractured heart, it healed badly and he was twisted by the injury.

He knows power, that being his only security. It has been this way so long that he no longer recalled what it was like before. He can only obtain it by force. Years later, a friendship with an older fox only corrupted him further. In his desire for an equal companion, he became harsher to gain approval of a hard man. The pair encouraged eachother in their exploration of darker elations, leading one another deeper into the mire.

I could never know the extent of the corruption until the day Arl Boese had come to the Aviary on a whim. I had been younger then, not quite pretty, but neither ugly. He had eyed the birds with shallow interest before casting eyes on me. When he raised his hand to play fingers at my cheek I had cringed, half expecting a blow. The response incensed him.

He shouted, turning near purple with rage. I was mute, I was a woman and I was a servant: I could neither scream for help nor defend myself. His ranting caused me to cower, to retreat, backing myself to the sill of one of the open windows. As the stone pressed into the back of my thighs and his raised his hand to strike me, I knew full well I would fall.

It had always been a musing of mine to wonder what it would feel like to fly, the rush of wind under wings. Feeling the air rushing past my body ruffling my skirts would probably be similar. At least I would have had that. I felt my jaw set in determined resignation, waiting for the blow to fall, waiting for my body to fly.

"Leo, you are frightening the little bird. Do you know not how to handle such fragile things?" a masculine voice coyly teased.

Arl Boese had been accompanied to the Aviary by his guest, Arl Crewe. The man had red hair and his smiles were full of teeth. Though the words offered reprieve, the tone was far from reassuring like the barking of a fox to a patridge.

The threatening hand was lowered, and Arl Boese glowered, but he allowed, "I momentarily forgot myself in my rage, friend. Thank you for returning me to sense. What would bring you pleasure?"

"_I have seen the world through a needle's eye,"_ the other man recited with a chuckle, _"I have learned to dull the sharpness of a lie. I will content myself that I cannot fly if I might feast upon the birds in a pie."_

I felt myself shiver as the man went on to say he had not eaten such an exotic fare as what was available in the Aviary, "Imagine the pies. This servant here probably would know how to pluck and trim such offerings. They would be a week long feast for us. When we tire of such meat, we will have the left-overs sent to the kennels. This woman will be a perfect hostess, in all her silent radiance and will serve us at the table. Think you not that this is meet?"

My arl suddenly mulled over the man's suggestion, slowly savoring the words before returning his attention to me, "Woman, you are to have a new berth. You will be assigned to the kitchen and will prepare a feast for our honored guest, cooking the birds into pies until you either exhaust the stock or until we exhaust our pallets. The Aviary will be cleared. Is that understood?"

I tamped down the tears as I nodded ascent. The men left, clapping one another on the shoulders, laughing, turning their attention to other distractions until dinner.

The Cook had attempted to be compassionate, sending her son to wring the birds' necks so they could be plucked and prepared as he did for the chickens or geese as was needed. However I would allow no hand but mine to touch them, for they had been my charge. None would handle them but me in their final moments.

We harvest them a group at a time. To kill them too long before their usage would open the possibility for their tender flesh to spoil. Thus for the next week my days began with the sickening little snaps of bird necks between my nimble fingers, praying to the Maker that my hands were swift enough to make the pain minimal for the helpless creatures.

After each execution came the plucking, the feathers from the plain to the colorful littered the courtyard while I sat on the flagstones. They blew away and the action began to numb me. Without their plumes I could forget what they were, they were just meat, destined for gravy.

It had been my hope that the Arl would lose interest in the pies I made night after night, and he might well have had he not had the encouragement of his guest. The man glutted himself and raved to the Arl with each bite, occasionally casting a bright look of satisfaction in my direction. I served him night after night and I despised him, but my face remained slack and impassive as each pie was placed upon his platter, as each morsel was put into his gullet.

The occupants of the Aviary dwindled until there was only a small clutch of Rivaini Waxwings roosting in the cavernous cages. Their trilling, as they hopped amid their perches, were like questions, demanding to know where their winged brethren had disappeared to. They were always garrulous songsters: perhaps that is why I had avoided taking them till the last.

The first tanned body sat in my palm, chiding me until the inevitable snap. The bird was then limp, silent, and I felt the acid build in my throat. The silence was far more accusing than the trilling of his brothers in eulogy.

Without another thought, a desperate insanity engulfed me: I threw open the windows and then the cages. Waving frantically, I chased the birds from their perches. The frightened squalling, as the one who had cared for them became a monster, a threat that they had to fly from, and most escaped through the windows, except for the few that crashed into the walls, breaking their own necks in their confusion. Only a handful of limp corpses littered the floor, and I gathered them into my skirt.

They were enough for a single pie, which the two arls toasted, unaware of my treachery in releasing those marked for execution. Perhaps they took for granted that I was broken, that I could not resist since I had meekly served all week. As I left their presence that last night of penance, I heard the foxish arl observe to Arl Boese, _"See, this asserts your dominance. You can be feared with far more subtlety than blatant brutality. It took me years to learn the finesse of ruling, my friend. There are things worse than death, there is pain that cuts deeper than a knife. One must be observant and vigilant." _

When I next went into the courtyard, I could hear the waxwings jeering me as traitor, scolding me for my weakness, but they still lived. For the years that followed, I would catch glimpses of their hooded heads, heard the trilling of their roosting hidden in a copse of firs close to the castle.

Perhaps that is what finally returned the insanity that had become a dim buzz in the silence.

After the first night, I had feared that her injuries were deeper than mere cuts and bruises. There had been a lump the size of a stone on the back of her head. The eyes hooded by her lids seemed only vaguely responsive to light. When the first drugged meal arrived, I refused to feed her, to ensure that she was able to wake at all. The day and night were long as I anxiously waited for some kind of responsiveness in my charge. Once as I cared for her and mopped her brow with a cool cloth she seemed to stir, and I helped her to drink as I cradled her in my arms and tended her injury. Her gratitude was mumbled in her addled state. Whenever she stirred she would wince in pain, her eyes only opened once, saturated with unshed tears before oblivion claimed her again. I feared for her and I felt for her.

I opened the windows, hoping the bracing air would cause her to stir and regain her strength. The light of day fell across her face and she winced slightly, but it was different than before. My breath was deep with the easing of the tightness in my chest.

She struggled to sit and questioned me. I answered as I was able, with nods and gestures. Her ability to take in her surroundings offered some reassurance, but also created a dilemma. How could I knowingly keep her in slumber now?

The Arl chose that day to inspect the Aviary, accompanied by my benefactor who momentarily angled a chiding glare in my direction before bestowing all his false smiles upon my charge. The Arl allowed himself to be manipulated by the arlson, much like the other fox had done before. He was still weak though he deluded himself that he was strong.

The bird could preen coquettish in their presence and the Arl was drawn in by her gentle chirping, but the arlson managed to disengage the older man. There was a warning glance directed at me when he ushered the old boar through the door, foxish eyes narrowed. Partridges know the eyes above the jaws and are wary of such things. Perhaps he felt my wavering once I had known the chick which he threatened.

Perhaps Derora could sense my resolve wavering, for she began to yammer to the lady, serving her the drugged gruel. To prevent me from interfering in the ploy, she dredged up the memory of what I was, telling the story to my new charge. The long healed scars were torn anew and bled fresh.

She assumed that I had forgotten and that I required reminding. Her reminder did not have the desired response as I cried, feeling helpless. When the knock signaled for her to depart, her pointed look stated_, "Do not forget what was promised. What is she to us? Our freedom hinges on our compliance in this matter."_

She was a song bird, my delicate charge. As I cloistered myself in a corner, disengaging myself from the nestling, she raised her voice and the words were defiant and lovely. She would not bend to the whims of the fox or the boar as I had, as I had been led to do by red furred promises.

The food that Derora had given to her made her drowsy, as it was intended to do, and she finally wandered to the bed, laid down, her eyes drooping in unbidden sleep, and I continued to watch her.

* * *

I remembered accompanying my father as a little girl, as he was a yeoman in the wood for the previous arl. He knew all the wood, even better than some of the Avvar people that passed through from time to time. My mother had bemoaned the fact that I was mute, but my father saw it as a gift. I could walk without stirring twigs and I did not waste my days chattering like a magpie. Father would pat my head, winking, and smile, "My Kana, you are too full a vessel to have it wasted at your lips. Silence has depth and your wisdom is your own. Watch carefully and do not be taken in by what is without."

One day we had walked when a partridge had landed a few feet ahead of us, it batted its wings, spreading the pins wide, chirping pitifully and I made toward it, thinking it had been injured and desiring to tend it. My father grabbed my hand quickly, staying me from rushing blindly toward the bird. When I turned questioning eyes on him he placed his forefinger beside his nose and silently motioned for me to watch and withhold my actions.

The bird continued to flail and flutter, staggering itself up the path farther and farther, while my father and I followed it as a reasonable distance. After a while it fluttered less, and preened slightly. At a certain point it stood waiting for us, and when it had deemed we had come close enough, it took to the air on strong wings and flew back down the path from whence we had come. The bird I had assumed was injured was not injured at all.

"We must have passed too close to her nest, Kana," my father explained, sensing my confusion, "She thought she was leading us away from her babies by pretending to be injured. If we had been predators we would have followed her, assuming she was an easy meal because of her supposed injuries. She is a good mother, that partridge, and knows how to use the weakness of those that stalk her."

What would he have thought of my contract, I wonder?

I mulled over the memories for days, as I continued to drug my charge with the food that Derora brought me. The song bird would groggily accept the food at my hands as she lay on her pallet, weak and vulnerable. Derora looked smug every time she returned, looking more foxish each day, her nose seeming longer as she gazed down at me, her eyes carrying a keen twinkle. At times I wondered if my agreement was beginning to change me into the things that had stalked me, had preyed upon me.

In less than a week, I was resolved.

When Derora brought the food, I fed my song bird my own meal, sharing it in turns with each mouthful. The meal intended for her was poured out the window, striking the stones at the side of the tower like bird castings. None below seemed to notice the weathered tower had become decorated in cast off gruel.

That evening, the song bird was more alert. She sat up and rubbed her nape just below her near healed injury. She asked questions, seeming unaware of how long she had been sleeping. I would nod, or shake my head, unable to elaborate on the thoughts taking form in my head. I could not explain the danger I perceived. I could not warn her to abandon her blind trust in me, for she saw me with soft eyes. She looked at me as a nestling must look at their mother.

Before Derora would arrive, I would lead her to her bed and urge her to lie down with rough hands, pulling the blanket to her chin, pantomiming my desire that she should pretend to sleep. When Derora would carry in the tray, I would take it from her. The sharp eyes would skitter to my song bird's inert form on the bed, silently inquiring if my charge slept, to which I would nod and she would shrug, retreating back through the door.

Carrying over the bowls, I would hand the wooden bowl that was to be for me to my bird, and carrying the blue bowl to the window, dumping its contents over the side. The first time I had done it, her eyebrows had skewed, but I suspect she was vaguely aware of my reasons, for she did not question and readily shared the stew that was my meal.

We could not continue this way, though not drugged my little bird was trapped as surely as I. Our only means of escape would either be through the barred door or the open window.

I wondered if the partridge ever considered the consequences of its ruse. What if it could not move fast enough out of harm's way? Did it do it knowing there was the potential that it would die for its young, oblivious in the nest?

That last day I sat beside her on the bed, patting her hand reassuringly and she looked at me with confused eyes, but did not question my behavior. When the time came, I did not swaddle her in the bed or mime for her to feign sleep. Instead I stood and walked to the door, signaling for her to remain seated. I picked up the heavy bowl that had been holding the noxious food from the previous day and took my place beside the door, next to the wall near its hinges.

When the door opened and Derora entered, she stopped short in the center of the room, realizing that my song bird was not lying in the bed, but sitting up. Before the startled woman could respond I kicked the door closed with my foot, hearing the bolt slid home just as I brought my hands down with the bowl on the back of Derora's head before she could cry out. Instantly she crumpled to the floor with a groan and I caught the edge of the tray so it would not crash with her, alert the guards without of what occurred within.

The song bird's eyes grew wide as she took in Derora's still form, her mouth began to stutter, but there was no time to argue. I stripped Derora's clothes from her and gestured for my song bird to put them on. She picked them up with uncertainty, but began to change into her homespun shift and apron. I quickly coiled her hair into a bun and concealed it under the kerchief that was always Derora's fashion to hide her gray lockes. Each action and movement fluttered, like desperate wings.

When she had been clothed, I dragged her to the window and pointed across the courtyard to the kitchen, implying she should go there. From there she could slip out of the servant's quarters, perhaps she could find her way through the woods, even in the cold. Perhaps she could steal some of the autumn fruits to sustain her as she tried to find her way to safety or at least a safe place to hide. The predators of the forest could be no worse than the predators of this cage. I could feel she was strong. I just needed her to get beyond the reach of the fox. I could not speak all these thoughts, all I could do was look at her pleadingly, hoping she understood my reasons.

She still looked confused, but nodded as I handed her the spent tray from the day before. She lowered her eyes, bowing her head, hunching her shoulders, mimicking the guise of a servant who will not look a guard or a lord in the eye. I did the rhythmic knock on the door that signaled the guard to open the door. The bar and bolt were withdrawn and she stepped out into the passage and I held my breath.

There was no outraged shout of the guard or the sound of running footsteps, indicating that my plan had been overturned. I only heard her footsteps retreating down the steps and far away.

I put Derora to bed, carefully bandaging her head and applying the unguent that I had used on my song bird's injuries when she first came to me. I patted the shoulder of my one-time friend and went to the window. A figure carefully walked across the courtyard toward the kitchen, her pace brisk. When she disappeared behind the door at the far side, turning into a fleeting shadow in the fading light, my heart felt simultaneously glad and pained.

At some point in the night I heard the alarm bells ring, warning of treachery. I knew that it meant the end.

As my friend shifted restlessly on the bed, groaning again in her discomfort, I returned to my vigil at the window. The lights in the keep windows came on like flickering orange fireflies. I could hear metal greaves on cobbles as armed guards stalked across the courtyard, back to the aery tower, carrying torches and shouting angrily. I could barely make out a foxish face glare up amid the men, casting an angry look at my window.

There was a feeling of satisfaction as I hurled the blue pottered bowl from my perch into the men below, eliciting outraged cries as the watery stew rained down upon their heads and the sound of the bowl as it shattered onto the cobbles. It was the only defiance a mute could muster in the face of armed men. In a matter of moments they would be upon the door and their rough hands would drag me away.

For a moment I stood there on the precipice of my indecision, I felt the breeze from the window. As the door opened and I saw the face of the first man to enter, I leaned back into that breeze, my feet losing purchase on the floor. My body fell through the air toward the courtyard below. The wind billowed my skirts like wings and kissed my cheeks. I thought I could barely discern the sound of waxwings, calling to me in the darkness, offering me absolution.

It was not quite freedom, it was not quite flying, but I was satisfied.


	74. Interlude 24: Rediscovering Records

_**Interlude 24: Rediscovering Records of the Rock Wraiths**_

_**Warden Hallak Grimwale**_

_ In the Deep Roads, far below the surface, even farther than the depths which darkspawn seem to inhabit, there are queer creatures seemingly made of rock and malice. They appear to congregate around areas with high concentrations of lyrium. It is unclear if they are actual stone that has gained animation as a result of the lyrium or if they are beings that already had existence and were attracted to the lyrium._

_ The lore of the dwarves have developed a superstition about these beings, concerned that the wraiths are actually souls of dwarves that have been returned to the stone but have regained consciousness, though their dwarven forms have gone. Some stories have claimed that these dwarven souls serve as guardians for the secrets of the ancient dwarves. Other stories have asserted that these are dwarves that have been cursed for tainting the stone with evil and they are doomed to wander the halls of their Ancestors, searching for absolution or revenge._

_ Curiously, darkspawn shun areas inhabited with these wraiths, the reasons for this are unclear. In a certain sense, these wraiths have preserved and protected long forgotten thaigs better than the living dwarves have been able to manage of the more recent ones. _

_ A Warden expedition in caverns deep beneath the Anderfels uncovered an unusual thaig. It was reported that they came across just such a creature. In their zeal to make contact, mistakenly assuming it to be a forgotten golem that had lost its control rod, they approached the creature. The wraith made no indication of trying to communicate, but instead attacked the party, killing two of the Wardens before the others fell back. _

_Fearing that the creature would create more havoc if allowed to wander the roads indefinitely, the remaining wardens triggered a cave in, blocking the only known entrance to the thaig. It had been believed that they would be able to return later with a larger force, clear the rubble and find a way to expel the wraith, but the Third Blight came, interrupting any plans to revisit the ancient thaig and further study the wraith. _

_The maps and reports created during the expedition were only recently found in a forgotten corner of the scriptorium in the Warden Archives, but the current High Commander sees no purpose in pursuing further study of the rock wraiths. They are oddities and our true concern lie with the darkspawn. _

_I have questioned sharing these findings with the Dwarven communities in Orzammar or Kal-Sharok, but have had my entreaties rebuffed, being told, "To do so is to extend Warden intelligence to the political machinations of the Dwarven Assembly. It is necessary, for the protection of all, that the Wardens maintain neutrality and avoid any direct action that might hinder or encourage the political movements of any nation."_

_So the records shall be returned once again to the forgotten scriptorium, until another like me should uncover it years from now. Perhaps by then the skeptical nature of my Order will be abandoned and the Wardens will embrace open cooperation with all the nations of Thedas._


	75. Chapter 50: A Superior Commander

**Chapter 50: A Superior Commander**

_**Ser Simon Grey**_

I was a knight, not a soldier…

…yet I was not the same knight that had began that journey into the Cauldron a month prior to where I found myself at that moment. That knight had spent his time in stone halls, standing stoically to the side as nobles arranged and schemed over affairs of state. It no longer mattered to me how those men and women quibbled over boundaries on parchment and held petty grudges over supposed slights. Their shallowness did not interest me in the aftermath of the Blight, for it was more dressings covering over old problems that twirled in dizzy, courtly circles. I followed the orders of my Arl and did not concern myself with the possible intrigues fuelling his requests.

I became a guard to a young king who I had felt was unfit to rule, let alone lead men into battle. Like me, he was uncomfortable with life at court for he had not been groomed for the responsibilities he was thrust into. My presence had been intended by the Arl to be a steadying influence on the boy, or so I was told. Looking back at that point, it became obvious that I was also a means to manipulate the king, to keep him in the parameters that the Arl desired and not cut loose and the king had allowed it, modifying his expressions and actions to suit my foreboding brow. In a manner, I was no more than a scarecrow of displeasure.

In light of all that had occurred I had to acknowledge that I had done an injustice by the young king, as he had proven himself to be an able man with a good heart, though he had little confidence in himself. I could claim some fault for that, I realized. He was a man worthy of respect that I had been reluctant to bestow. He readily took responsibility and, without thinking at times, he behaved kingly, disregarding the time wrought prejudices of a worn out old knight.

Alone in the dark clearing I gathered my thoughts and my failings about me. For that time I saw the mirror of my situation with that of the king I had once so heartily resented: I was called by necessity into a role I was unprepared for but I needed to complete. The lives of an entire people leaned on my shoulders, including Bruna and Letha.

I had been solitary for so long. Once I had carried a mother and a sister, but now my mother was dead and my sister had a husband and children to care for her. My duty to the Arl had been all after that, but once the rebellion was over and the Orlesians were driven from Ferelden, my service seemed to be figurative. Even I could not help the Arl when he became sick and the knights searched vainly for a holy cure, a cure discovered and returned by the man who would eventually be the king I brow beat over small niceties. I had become as petty as the nobles I despised.

This past month I had been called to lead and was betrayed by a brother-at-arms, rescued by green men and my king and lost my armor. I was guided and teased by a masquerading noble woman, cajoled into shepherding doomed villagers from the hands of unjust Templars, lost one of my charge in my sleep, led on a mad chase through the Cauldron countryside, chided by a cunning cook and inadvertently threatened a lyrium addled Chantry sister. After this I was mauled by a bear, effectively winging my sword arm, lost the aforementioned Chantry sister to the woods along with the king I was sworn to serve, attacked by mercenaries and propositioned by a maleficar.

What did the maleficar request? She wanted me to train an army of Avvar warriors in the art of battle against a superior force…and I had agreed. Had she overcome my mind?

"Hardly," came a voice that had become both familiar and unwelcome. She had been spying on me from the trees, or perhaps she crept upon me in the guise of an animal, I cared not. All I cared about was that she had been listening as I groused beneath my breath. Her ears were certainly sound.

"What do you want?" I demanded, refusing to spare her a glance.

"I was merely passing, taking care of my own needs," she purred, "but I could not help but notice your pacing. An Avvar would not have been taken so unaware."

The withering look I bestowed upon her would have frozen ale, "I am no Avvar. Perhaps it would be better for them if another took up their lead and I was abandoned here in the woods to meet my end. I belong in a forgotten corner of a forest. I am a ruin after all."

"Such self-pitying," her tongue clicked, though she smirked, "and it has yet to help you."

"Be gone, witch," I spat.

"You waste your ire on me, good knight. You waste your ire on the men who you are striving to teach as well, barking like a toothless mabari, and it is getting you nowhere." She observed. Her lithe form leaned against a tree and her arms crossed her breast. The frown on her face communicated displeasure, though her voice was neutral of it.

Her words brought to mind the young men I attempted to drill, day after day. These men watched me with a devoted determination that rivaled Ser Hadrian. Every time I knocked them down, they got back up. Every time I berated them, they pushed harder and yet made no improvement as blood and sweat intermingled with the force of their exertions. I had to turn them into an army and I was failing, not because they lacked conviction or strength. No, we were not failing because of them. The fault surely lay with me.

Thoughts of Forthwind only added to my sense of futility, for I knew not where he was or if he was even alive. The very thought of him plagued me, accusing me of inadequacy. I had led him into a trap as surely as the king, stranding him in this wilderness, pitting him against the mercy of the beasts that beset us. I had failed him as surely as I was failing these men. He had been a strong knight, an eager pupil and I had begun to fear that I had been a poor teacher. Now my singular failings with Forthwind multiplied before my eyes in the personage of a force of men I was training for battle. These were young men and they had everything to lose if we failed, yet they followed me without question. They struggled to learn, despite a language barrier and lacking supplies. The reality became clearer each passing day: "I cannot teach these men to take down a Templar as knights or soldiers. I am inadequate to the task."

The words were hurled at the witch who had found me and goaded me into this mess. If I was at fault, then she was equally to blame.

"Ah, so there we have it," she smiled, seeming to regain her teasing humor, "you are finally seeing reason. Whoever had said that you had to teach these men to be knights or soldiers? You lead the finest warriors these mountains have ever seen on her surface. Battle is in their blood. Their entire lives are a struggle against the elements, against each other. You have the opportunity to focus that energy into a force. They need not be knights or soldiers when they are Avvar."

"If I am not to turn them into soldiers, then what use am I?" I growled, feeling the old petulance peaking that I had become accustomed to with Svenya. Aspects of this woman reminded me of her, and yet I trusted Svenya and I could never trust this viper.

"You can be useless then, if that pleases you," she retorted, seeming equally petulant, "but you are a wiser man than that, I think."

I shook my head, "We are to take on a superior force with superior weapons and superior training."

"We have superior warriors with superior training: they just need to focus what they already possess to accurately meet the force. Superior weapons can have flaws, superior armor can have chinks, superior defenses can have holes and superior commanders can be manipulated by their own arrogance to make mistakes. The Avvars needed a man who understood this, who has been humbled by experience so that he does not make the same mistakes. Will you be this man, I wonder?" She finished, her eyes twinkling though her face maintained a mien of boredom.

I gaped, blinking for a moment as realization swelled in my breast. I had been a fool, but I would be a fool no longer, "Gather the men, then. In particular, I will need a handful who can speak my language well enough to understand my instructions beyond crude gestures and signs. If I have five, that will suffice. If there are more, the Maker may smile on us yet. They must teach me their tactics, their strengths. I know my own weaknesses well enough that I should be able to consider the weaknesses the Templars possess. Their armor alone is fraught with weaknesses that an unarmored man can take advantage of if he knows where to strike. The arrogance of an armored man will undo him; that I can attest to."

"You have a plan, then?" her lip crooked in a half smile.

"No," I stated, "we have a chance. Considering how most of my plans have erupted over the past weeks, it might be better to be without a plan. I was right though, charging in would be suicide…therefore we must force them to be the ones to charge."

She bowed to me then, with a vague flourish that smacked of mockery, "Your wish is my command, oh wise commander. However, before I take my leave to carry forth your orders, I have one point that niggles at my curiosity…."

The tone caused the back of my neck to itch and I suddenly became wary but my words remained flat, "What is it?"

"Perhaps my ears deceived me, but during your previous grumblings I heard other words that piqued my interest," the yellow eyes bored into me and the black hair ruffled slightly in the breeze, reminding me of raven feathers.

"What words?"

"I believe you mentioned a king. As I have already said, my hearing might have been in error… but it rarely is in error. So, it leads me to ask: what king could you possibly be referring to?"


	76. Chapter 51: The Patchwork Woman

_**Chapter 51: The Patchwork Woman**_

_**Sister Letha**_

_The raven was white,_

_ The swan was black,_

_ And the lady came to me_

_ Saying I had to go back._

It was the Fade and yet it was real. Its presence had been drawing on me for weeks and now I had surrendered to its calling. I had to return to meet the one who I had left behind. Even now I could feel her pulling an invisible chord that tied us.

I wandered a blurry landscape, seeing the forms of confused sleepers, trying to make sense of their prisons and awaken themselves to return to their lives and their loved ones. Some had been there so long that they had begun to diminish slowly. The forms began to evaporate around the extremities first, fingers and feet.

_We are all just vapor_

_ Sweet incense burned to honor the Maker_

_ We were never meant to stay_

_ Like the skeletons of the mountains_

_ Monuments of our weakness._

These poor individuals seemed unaware of their dwindling into oblivion. They continued to struggle in their snares, some calling for help, but unable to find any. I longed to reach out to them and ease their passing, for I could not return them to the waking world. They could not see me, though I could see them, but any time I strayed toward them something fixed my feet to the fickle ground.

My Fade locked cantor still continued to call me and I had to meet her summons. Eventually the mist seemed to roll back like a curtain and she stood before me. Like me she had been torn and found, but her savior had been far less kind than mine had been, patching her with pieces of itself and other stolen fragments. It had masked her with a false face, though I could feel the truth of her, recognizing what was familiar amid the perversion of her being. She leered at me with a bent smile, coaxing with a strange chorus of discordant voices, "Hello, my sister. What think you of my new weeds?"

I gasped, for the face she wore was also vaguely familiar, though it did not belong to her. I had seen this face elsewhere, but this version was a falsely perfect reflection of the beautifully marred face I had briefly come to know. This face was marble smooth and yet the seams of the body were just barely holding her form together, the hasty stitches allowing brief snatches of light to seep through.

"You know my twin," the false pretender sneered, reading my thoughts as they flittered through my mind, "she is broken and yet her fractures knit. I cannot patch myself fast enough to perfectly match her, but the face is pretty. I have that at least. Memories balance between pretty and ugly, yet they give form. I have not enough memory to keep this guise in one piece and I was unable to take enough of what I needed to fill what I lacked. This vessel holds part of your memory as well as hers and that is what causes some of the loose piecing. That is my punishment for snatching at something as you abandoned me and fed it to the Glutton in hopes of preserving myself. I retained very little of what I took from you and even less of myself."

I shook my head slowly, feeling heavy, trying to draw out something locked still within me, something that had not been taken that might reveal the truth, "No…I did not abandon you. I had saved you. I dragged you along behind me from the darkness, the rocks and the sickly blue glow we cupped in our hands. We had been in the water, it had poured through our fingers as we prayed on bended knees beneath the monstrous circle in some strange, stone Chantry. I grabbed you before diving in as the Maker drew me in, washed me, cleansed me, and swept away my sin. He sifted us through the water as we rushed past darkness toward the light."

The barking laughter taunted, "You cannot sift us free of this taint. Not even the Maker can do that. The Templars fitted us for either the Veil or consumption by beings far more frightening than our previous jailors. The beings that fill this place are hungry and they prey on those like us, dreamers so seasoned by lyrium that we become tasty and they learn of our world without passing over into it. Instead of consuming me, the one that found me viewed me as a curiosity; he had seen shadows of our world from those who could walk these ways. He patched me, sewing me into the form of his beloved, the object of desire. He stuffed me with a strange dust to give me form. It is plentiful here and it is what maintains me, feeding me while others dissipate into nothing."

"Why?" I questioned, confused by the words that she offered. Her explanations grated and horrified, though I could not remember why such things should. There was revulsion and a sour taste filling my mouth. I drew back from her and she moved even closer.

"Those who live here only know longing," she explained in a sing-song voice, "and I am now one of them. One of the life starved, dimly glowing and yet without color. We are like them and yet we are not, just like I am like her and yet I am not. He deemed I was too poor a copy, even with my perfections. She is my rival, my aim and I am a poor archer. When she ventured again into this domain she was seeking, unaware that I sought her, that I stalked her, that I needed her to reach the ideal in all her precious flaws. I intended to fill my gaps, knit together my inconsistencies with her realities, embrace her scars and season myself with her spice and bitter sweetness. Then he would want me, he would seek oneness with me and I would no longer be alone. He had promised me this, but then he left me, his lust for her clouded his fidelity to the one he molded."

_Leave me lover for the other_

_ You wander the lost places_

_ Searching for other faces_

_ When you could have me_

_ With all my hewn graces_

_ And all fidelity that I offer thee._

With this she began to weep, tearing her hair, her limbs, her very stitching coming close to splitting with her grief. I was overwhelmed with a sense of pity for the creature who was once my sister, my friend. I was helpless to console her as I had been to help the others trapped around me in the Fade.

She continued to sob, "Is it always to be this way for me? Always abandoned by those who promised to stay, to love me? My parents abandoned me on the steps of the Chantry when winter want became too great to bear and threadbare rags could not keep out the wind. My sisters in faith abandoned me one by one in the darkness, succumbing to the poisonous rock and noxious dust, all save you. Then, you abandoned me in your terror to escape and your fear of the undulating tatters, offering us a place to hide, but disguising the danger within. The Maker abandoned me in these misted lands, leaving me with no hope or succor. What other option had I but to yield to another's desire? He remade me, but could not accept my inconsistencies. He could not bring himself to destroy me, to remove what he had bestowed. Some part must have loved me, a stitch so small…but his hatred might have been more compassionate."

"I am so sorry…" I breathed.

"You wished to save me," she howled hollowly, accusing, "and yet you condemned me to this. This cannot be undone. I have not the power to end this. Are you kind, sister, friend? You are the only one to return to me."

Looking at her I realized that the eyes were still hers, the light green of spring grass, peering through the slits of false loveliness. Some small corner within me recalled those eyes crinkled with laughter and light. Now they were full of human tears and sorrow, pleading, "Help me…"

"There you are!" a mildly impatient voice observed, causing me to turn. A woman, the raven woman who retrieved me from the tree, she had found me even here. She appeared much like she had beneath my tree, enigmatic and dark, but not malicious. There was palpable curiosity in her voice and her head was cocked, birdlike, her arms crossed defensively, "I have tracked you through this place for a miserable amount of time. Why could you not stay in one spot?"

The patchwork shadow of my friend saw her and hissed, back arched like an angry cat, "Witch born…Fade forgotten…Flemeth touched…"

"Of course, even here," the raven woman groaned, "you have become one with the Fade and yet you persist in your Chantry born prejudices. The hypocrisy is complete."

I could feel my face wrinkle with confusion, unsure of whom to turn to.

"I have been sent to fetch you," the raven turned to me, beckoning me to come with her with an impatient swipe of her hand.

The patchwork woman grabbed my hand, maneuvering me behind her, placing herself between the raven and I, "You reek of deception, of ambition. You are akin to the Fade and the demon denizens that populate this place, preying on the unwary."

"You would know, for what pact enabled you to exist in such a state?" the raven countered, maintaining a severe eye without wavering.

"I know you are hunted by one even the demons give wide berth to. She trespasses on a whim, but knows the borders. She makes treaties that she only keeps when her humor compels her. Even though I am alien to these realms I have learned this from one who had attempted to trap her and failed, why do you hope to succeed when the most powerful, those of her ilk, have failed?" The patchwork woman's words tumbled forth like a spool unraveling, but the raven's words snipped it short.

"I have no interest in you and owe you no explanations. I was sent to guide this woman back to where she belongs," the raven extended her staff, indicating that I was the one she spoke of, "We need her. She is the only one who can show us the way into the Templar stronghold."

The creature listened to this, seeming momentarily stunned, and then she began to laugh hysterically: coughing, choking, sick laughter. Then, abruptly the laughter ceased and she snarled, "She no longer knows the way."

"What do you mean?" the raven woman questioned suddenly seeming unsure and worried.

_The raven and the ragdoll went to war,_

_ Fighting violently over a scrap torn_

_ From the robe of the Maker on a thorn._

_ Back and forth, the tug and pull,_

_ Empties the meaning that was once full._

"It was one of the handful snatches I could hold tight to when I failed to find her hand as she tore away from me. The lyrium tied us together and my hold on her was stronger than I could have known. Even without her physical presence, I could hold her. The seams were not strong enough to withstand my desperation. It ripped and I kept fragments. It bled me as my sculptor found me, or what remained when the scavengers had taken what they wanted. He took the pieces and tried to reform me. I could be imprinted by another's memory and molded by it. He placed new pieces, some were his own, and some belonged to others who had passed by leaving echoes in their wake, like my rival, though they were few. My rival had been called here many times and he waited for only a glimpse, unable to even touch her cloak. All he wanted was a moment of contact, and I offered him something he had been denied. This was not enough; however…he discovered others, lyrium laced and weak. Like me they could be touched for they possessed something of the Fade though they were on the other side of the tears. He wanted to find a way across and so he stalks his catalyst so that he can reach her."

"A memory thief…" the raven woman nodded, "the lyrium poisoning makes people more susceptible. There is protection offered to most dreamers, making it impossible for the beings of the Fade to directly interact with them unless something is done to break the boundaries. The lyrium poisoning is weakening the barriers. The beings are attacking trapped dreamers because of the lyrium. They are eating their memories in an attempt to experience what it is to be human since they cannot easily pass into the real world. You are right; however, it only would whet the appetite. It can never be enough for a demon and now there are tears between the Fade and the world of men appearing all over the Cauldron. It will not take long before they find a way across if the veils continue to deteriorate. You however have become like them, you are a Fade leech of sorts."

The green eyes were angry when she regarded the raven's interpretation, "At least my leeching was unintentional. Can you say the same, scavenger?"

"Keep a civil tongue, creature, or I will…" the raven threatened the patchwork woman.

"I fear you not. There is nothing you can do to me now and I possess what you desire. If any should be wary it is you!" the woman warned, realizing her power over the haughty raven.

The raven appealed to me sullenly, "We need her cooperation. I have not the means to coerce her. There is a force of Avvar men, among them a knight that knows you, and they are preparing to attack the Templars. Those men will go to their deaths if we do not weaken the Templar defenses from within. We need that passage!"

Though I could not comprehend why, the raven's words inspired a sense of urgency in me. I turned to the patchwork woman who was once my friend, the one I had failed despite my best intentions, and I called her by a name that seemed to materialize into words from amid the fog, "Sister…Galatea…help me please…return to me what I have forgotten."

She regarded me hollowly, but the name awoke something that had slumbered. A fragment of her humanity seemed to find its place in her hollowness, "I can show you, but I require a boon in return." She allowed this softly, the voice that had been a harsh discord of many voices together became singular, distinct.

"I am unable to return all that was taken," she swallowed, "but that piece is distinct enough that it might be removed."

With those words, she gripped a spot on her forearm and viciously tugged. There was a sound of tearing and popping as a patch pulled free from the rest of the whole. Through the hole she had created, blue glowing grains poured forth, seeping out in steady streams, as if she were bleeding queer sawdust. She grabbed my hand and closed my fingers around the grubby patch that now resembled a piece of old leather. I clutched it close to me as her knees buckled and she toppled over.

Dropping to her side, I pulled her into my lap and cradled her, much like I had previously been cradled. Her body slowly emptied, until she had nearly sunk in. Even flattened, she still lived, but she was a limp rag. With what remained she whispered, "Be wary of those who wear masks, sister. They wear them for many reasons, some for their harm and some for the harm of others. Thank you for remembering something of me beneath the mask."

With that I pulled the false face from the empty life-sized doll. Underneath I saw the pallor, the freckles still distinct against her skin, the red hair beneath what now appeared to be a brown woolen wig. The bowed mouth weakly smiled as the light in the true green eyes extinguished into grey.

I could not weep, I felt empty….

_The rush of wings, the Fade sings,_

_ As the end and the beginning appears_

_ Like a gentle boat on the sea_

_ That understands the drawing eternity._

_ She comes as mother and maid,_

_ The wise and the ever young._

A shadow in the shape of large wings fell across us and I turned to see a woman approach from a swirling mist. A hood concealed her face, though I could just barely discern a pair of kind, colorless eyes gazing down at me.

"I have come to collect your friend," she spoke softly, the voice reminiscent of wind through ruffled feathers.

Without waiting for an answer, she crossed to me, gathered the quilted corpse like a blanket it in her arms and gently tucked it into the folds of her cloak. What was left of my friend disappeared, concealed in the safety of the downy warmth the woman exuded.

"She has been redeemed and must go to her rest," the cloaked woman intoned, before turning to the raven thoughtfully, "What you seek will not be what you expect, little sister. There is always a price. It could cost you your wings."

The raven's only response was to snort derisively as the woman turned away from us both. The figure diminished, shrinking, her clothes turned into feathers and her limbs spread into wings, lifting her into the air. She cast one final look at us down a blood red beak and a voice chided, "You have loitered here long enough. They wait for you. The time of consummation draws near. You both have parts to play before the Veil should take you." With a final lazy loop in the air, she flew into a bank of mist and disappeared.

"Come," the raven commanded, reaching down to pull me to my feet, "we cannot tarry here. It is best not to tempt the denizens of this place. I must return you or my allies will cease to cooperate with me."

"Thank you," I offered, trying to appease her displeasure.

My thanks caused her pause before she hesitantly replied, "That is not necessary. I was only enabled to be here by the old woman. She could not come, but chose to anchor me here. She was concerned that she would not be able to protect you aptly enough herself. You live still because of her, not I."

"You found me and you could have left me in the tree," I offered.

"True," she nodded curtly, losing patience and dragging me in her wake as she walked toward an unknown destination, "but I did it out of a misplaced sense of sentiment for someone else, not for you. Stop trying my patience or I may be tempted to take my chance and leave you here."

As I looked at her back, I thought I saw a strange whiteness amid the black, flickering like a pale light in the mist while she remained oblivious. The scrap of memory, meanwhile, melted into my skin until my hand was again empty.


	77. Interlude 25: Ballad of Alpin Pt I

_**Interlude 25: The Ballad of Alpin – Part I**_

_An Orlesian Ballade_

_The third son of Count Catigern,_

_Alpin was neither proud nor stern_

_and went against his noble roots,_

_studying artistic pursuits._

_His parents begged him to recant,_

_and then choose to take up the Chant._

_With Kavan inheriting land,_

_and Piran served the Emperor's hand,_

_they saw it as right and meet_

_that Alpin should serve Andraste's feet,_

_working toward the Chantry's greater aim:_

_to lead all Thedas to do the same._

_In order that he might appease,_

_crafting from stone religious frieze_

_to support the Chantry's front nave_

_and Andraste's likeness to engrave._

_Alpin chose to live apart_

_and serve the Maker through his art._

_With each sculpture roughly hewn_

_his studio with debris was strewn._

_Imitating limbs both strong and lithe_

_made Alpin feel both proud and blithe._

_His art was most in demand_

_and was said to rival even the Maker's hand._

_Then one day an elderly man came_

_giving neither origin nor name._

_Boasting to his unknown guest,_

_Alpin claimed to be the best._

_The elder man informed his young host,_

_that he should be careful not to boast_

_for he himself was a sculptor too_

_and might teach Alpin something new._

_The young man laughed in his hubris_

_but the old man would not be dismissed._

_The old sculptor challenged Alpin_

_and decided the following day they would begin._

_The next morning when the sun rose_

_the men began sculpting the rock they chose._

_They carefully planned each strike_

_and their sculptures were far from alike._

_A block of malachite of deepest green_

_almost glowed with a rich sheen_

_beneath the young man's steady palms,_

_taking shape without qualms._

_The figure he wrought masculine_

_looked both powerful and sullen,_

_glaring eyes and jaw stern set,_

_enough to make a viewer fret._

"_I do not mean to dissemble,_

_but what is that supposed to resemble?"_

_The old man queried while he worked_

_and then Alpin openly smirked._

"_This is how the Maker would be_

_if He were to reveal himself to me._

_He is all strength and unfathomable power."_

_The old man asked, "You think He only knows to glower?"_

"_How else would he be when faced with man's sin?"_

_Alpin asserted, "Man is all corruption within._

_We deserve to have all our world wiped clean._

_The human creation was sculpted rude and mean."_

_The hands of the young man would fly,_

_over muscle and sinew, nose and eye,_

_almost careless in their flight_

_as the day faded into night._

_The elder sculptor chose alabaster_

_and he seemed to avoid working faster,_

_lovingly crafting every detail_

_moving as though he would fail._

_The rough became smooth in shape,_

_forming a lady from feet to nape._

_The old man tarried over her nose and eyes_

_focusing on her face from sunset to sunrise._

_On the second day there was a face_

_peering at the world with gentle grace._

_On the lips the lady had a shy smile_

_appearing free from all guile._

_When the young sculptor took pause_

_the sight nearly unhinged his jaws._

_The lady stood in line with the morning light_

_and would have brought any delight._

_The old man laid aside his chisel and hammer_

_just as the young man began to stammer,_

"_She is lovely and you have defeated my art,_

_I cannot continue, I have no heart."_

"_While my work is completely perfect in form,_

_it lacks that which makes your piece nearly warm_

_with life and breath. She is so sublime._

_Forgive me, master sculptor, I have wasted your time."_

"_It was not waste," the old man said with grin,_

"_This was not about a loss or a win._

_Your work lacks though your talent is rife,_

_to make your work live, you must also have life."_

"_Violence was a part of this world_

_almost from the moment the land unfurled._

_It does not mean there is not a better way,_

_kindness and mercy can also hold sway."_

"_The Maker was moved by a woman's song,_

_offering her divinity and a place to belong,_

_but she begged for her flawed kindred._

_It was her mercy and not a crown on her head_

_that caused all men to kneel in awe,_

_despite their most obvious flaw_

_of valuing power above simple belief_

_that pleases the Maker, to be brief."_

"_Boy, you have cheated yourself of your share_

_since you will not allow yourself to care_

_for the frailties of the humans you despise._

_You must finally open your eyes."_

"_I will leave this statue on which to meditate._

_I must be gone, my time here is growing late._

_Keep her safe until I should return_

_and be sure to share with me what you have learned."_

_With that the old man took his leave_

_and the young man found it hard to believe_

_that he had been gifted with such a prize_

_as he looked at the statue's downcast eyes._

_The young man took the advice to heart_

_and from that day he had a new start_

_in showing kindness to his fellow men_

_learning how to accept and forgive them._

_A year later his oldest brother had died_

_having no wife or child, only his pride._

_Piran took his brother's gold and lands_

_while Alpin continued to work with his hands._

_Alpin's parents came to him to appeal_

_to their son to take a wife, but he revealed,_

"_Dear mother, dear father, I have not the time,_

_between service to the Maker and mankind."_

"_It would not be fair to take a wife,_

_if I could not provide for her needs in life._

_I pursue my art to give the Maker praise_

_and to that I dedicate all of my days."_

_One day his mother made a final plea_

_that he should marry as was his duty._

"_Since you have been so diligent,"_

_the young man chuckled, "I will relent."_

_In a moment of harmless jest,_

_he wrapped arms around a statue's chest,_

"_This lovely lady shall be my bride_

_and I will ever keep her at my side."_

_It was the statue sculpted by the old man_

_and he gallantly kissed its hand._

_The day was waning and through the door_

_the sunset blazed across the floor_

_draping the lady statue with light,_

_with his words it seemed to sheen bright._

_Suddenly the statue blinked with green eyes_

_that had once been blank white in guise._

_She turned her head so that she was facing_

_the man who was tenderly embracing_

_her within his arms. On his shoulder_

_she laid her head, while he continued to hold her._

_The lovely statue had been imbued with life,_

_both beautiful and good, a proper wife._

_His mother was frightened and could not speak_

_as her eyes widened and her knees grew weak._

_The sculptor was not distressed_

_as he clasped his new bride to his chest, _

"_It is a miracle the Maker has wrought_

_providing me with the bride I had not sought."_

_In the face of the sculptor's enthusiasm_

_his mother found herself in a vast chasm_

_of confusion with which she could not escape_

_and could only manage to gape._

_The poor woman returned to her husband_

_hoping that he would understand_

_and discover a way to dissuade their son,_

_for such a match should not be done._

_They enlisted the aid of Reverend Mother Clotild,_

_who was wise and incredibly strong willed._

_She would go and interview the girl_

_and decide if from the Fade she had been hurled._

_Mother Clotild carefully decided_

_to interview this girl the Maker provided._

_She would determine if this girl was sound_

_or if to a demon she was bound._


	78. Chapter 52: Wheels Within the Wheel

**Chapter 52: The Wheels Within the Wheel**

_**Alistair / Ser Sellose**_

Re-examining my situation, I was not entirely sure if I should retch or weep. I was being held prisoner in a lyrium mine to perform forced labor by individuals who had no idea how to properly process it. Resultantly, those mining it became ill from it, suffered severe mental damage and were doomed to die. Murchad and I had only barely escaped having to sift lyrium from the rubble directly, which would have caused us to breathe in the dust regularly, but our good fortune was another's death sentence.

Sifting was mainly a job given to women: frail ones or those who were elderly making them less useful in directly mining because of an inability to swing a pick with power. Over the course of a week, I observed at least five women succumb to the poisoning, reduced to mumbling husks, unable to care for themselves. The Avvarian healer did his best to care for them, but often they were not left in his care for long. The Templars viewed those who became severely poisoned as an unnecessary drain on resources.

The Templars would not execute those poisoned and lyrium-mad however.

In the evening, if there was a candidate for "rest," a pair of Templars would take the afflicted into the deep caves on a litter. There they would leave them at the threshold of the Deep Roads. None but Templars were permitted to go to those tunnels designated for that service, but anyone down wind of them knew what was hidden from prying eyes in those caves. The stench of death wafted up from them and when any looked towards them they uttered a prayer for those poor souls abandoned to die in the dark.

At night, when the sky was encrusted with stars, the workers would be led from the mines. The worker tents looked like eerie specters in the darkness. A single communal fire was lit at the center of the camp and from there a surly Templar at a large cauldron would ladle out gruel into wooden bowls for the workers who would retreat to the shadows for their meals.

None spoke during those times, only slurped and lapped at their food like abused dogs, mongrels too weak to beg for scraps or whimper when they were kicked. All a worker had were the clothes on their back and their little bowl. The tents served any who could find space amid the throngs huddling for warmth from the late autumn chill. Those who were not quick or could not appeal to the mercy of their fellows were crowded out to sleep beneath the stars.

During the time just before the weary surrendered to sleep, the healer would make rounds, wandering the aisles between the tents, checking for injuries or illness. If he came across one displaced, he would cajole those in a tent with fewer occupants to take them. Sometimes he would gently guide the afflicted soul to his own tent to spend the few hours of sleep allowed. That is how he discovered me.

I had no shirt and would not force another from the shelter they so desperately needed. I shivered as I sat beside Murchad in the darkness, my knees drawn to my chest. The man came through the darkness and stopped, "I have not seen you before, but I recognize that mark on your arm from the gossip I have overheard. You are the man who claims to be a king. It would not be the first time I have seen the high brought low, but you do not carry yourself as a noble. I have seen Arl Boese at a distance, at least, and he certainly would not be sitting shirtless in the cold. Why not demand that your subjects make room for you?"

"I am not Arl Boese," I huffed, though I could feel the cold prickling my skin and I fought down the shivering, "but a king who has to prey on his subjects is no better than a wolf hunting its own pack."

For a moment he appeared to consider my comment carefully before stating, "Come!" He turned and began to retreat from us into the shadows between the tents. I found myself scrambling to my feet to follow the man with Murchad dutifully accompanying me.

We wound our way through the maze of tents until we reached the healer's tent with a single lantern flickering with a guttering light casting sputtering shadows as it died. He picked up the lantern and checked the oil, trying to coax it to last a little longer before reconsidering and blowing it out, "This is the last. Perhaps the Templars assumed I would not persevere so long and gave me what little oil they could spare. I do not like the idea of having to beg them for more. Please forgive the darkness, but I cannot afford to waste what few resources I have."

"I have grown accustomed to the dark since coming to the Cauldron," I mused, "it seems that is in plentiful supply."

Rifling through a crude barrel in the corner near a cot he pulled forth a shallow jar of some kind of salve, "You have burns that have obviously not been treated. It is not good to have seeping wounds in the mines. Lyrium in your blood stream will cause you to deteriorate faster. I approve of creating masks for your nose and mouth to limit the amount of dust you breathe in, but you still need a shirt here on the surface at least. I can smell the threat of snow in the mornings now. It will not be long before these flimsy tents will not be enough shelter for these people." He pulled a tunic from a pile of discarded linens and began tearing even strips from what appeared to be an torn shirt, "I believe I have a tunic whose owner will no longer need it. Let us treat the burns and wrap them in some bandages so they won't become irritated with dust."

"How have you come here?" asked Murchad, pulling forward a squat barrel so that I could sit on it while the healer examined the burn on my arm before cleansing it, "The Knight Commander called you _apostate. _Why have they allowed you to live since they are known to merely execute mages without question?"

"They allow me to live out of desperate necessity. The Templars caught me unaware when I was gathering herbs in the woods two moons ago. I had ventured down from my tribe's camp to replenish my stores before the snow came. I was dragged here in the hopes that I might be convinced to reveal my family's wintering place to the Templars. When their attempts at _persuasion_ failed, they had initially planned to kill me. On realizing that I was familiar with herb lore and that I had some healing skill, they deduced that I might be able to care for the workers forced to dig for them. They were losing far too many to be able to maintain their operations indefinitely. They too have been trying to replenish their stores before the snows come and have found their sources scant," he shook his head, "My people have known of the mines for a while, one of the neighboring tribes had lost a village to them, but we had not known that they were mining lyrium. _Mai 'r arglwyddes s adenedd achlesa ni."*_ He used a clean cloth to dab at the burn while I cringed. He looked hopeful when he inquired, "It stings?"

"Yes."

"That is encouraging since it means that the burn damage is not too extensive and it should heal well. Also it communicates that the wound itself has not been tainted by the lyrium while you were in the mine today. I have discovered that lyrium seems to have a numbing effect on most exposed wounds."

"Thank the Maker for small mercies," I gritted my teeth as the healer continued to treat the burn and apply green unguent to it before carefully wrapping a thick bandage around my upper arm. He then turned his attention to the burn on my chest and I tried to distract myself, "You have not shared your name."

He glanced at me, betraying no emotion as he continued to tend my burns, "Most do not care to learn the name of an Avvar."

"I am not most," I asserted.

"So I gather," he allowed. He proceeded to wrap a bandage around my upper torso to cover the burn before offering, "I am called Cefin."

"This is Murchad and I…I am called too many things…damn Grey!"

"Your name is Grey?" he asked, unable to follow as my thoughts wandered.

"No," I huffed, "Thank the Maker! I am Ser Sellose…at the moment."

"Will you turn into something else in another moment?" the man was becoming more confused by the moment and I could hardly untangle the lie regarding my identity that I had been parading behind for the past weeks.

I sighed, I realized that I had already revealed myself to a number of the workers and this man already knew. Here I was trying to regather the shreds of the lie that had hung upon my shoulders. I looked at Murchad and he shrugged, "What have we to lose?"

"I am Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden."

"I had already been told this," he crossed his arms incredulously, "why continue hiding it now?"

"Habit!" I spat

For the first time he smiled, "My people have a saying about creatures who rely too heavily on habit…they are easier to catch for a hunter that earnestly seeks them. You will not be able to keep hiding this forever, though I doubt the Templars care enough to hunt this out. They are too complacent in their assumed superiority. That might aid you."

"Aid me in what?" the question fell out of my lips, though I knew full well the answer.

"In staging an escape," he prodded, "or at least that is what was whispered by the other workers."

I turned to him and the words almost scalded in my throat, "I do not wish to escape, I wish to destroy this…this atrocity. I want to release these people and crucify the Templars as a warning to any others who believe this is acceptable."

"You are not just concerned in saving yourself then," he observed.

"No," I affirmed, "I am not concerned with saving myself. I have had too many people die on my behalf. My life is not worthy of their blood, of their sacrifice. If I only save myself, I will continue to waste what others offered in my place. This must end, even if it means I die collapsing this place."

He was silent for a long moment before standing up and offering me his hand, "Very few of your people who refer to themselves as `noble' would make a good chieftain. You appear to be worthy of such a title. That is the equivalent of a king, correct?"

I smiled ruefully, "I have not been _noble_ for long. It is a word that does not sit well with me."

"My usage of your language is rough. It does not have the music of mine, but the word _`noble' _has two edges, like a sword. It is thrown about as if it is an object inherited, as if it is something that can be owned. However, there is another meaning of the word…or am I mistaken?" His hand continued to be held out to me, waiting expectantly to be clasped in my own but I hesitated, undone by my own sense of inadequacy.

Murchad read my silence and answered in my stead, "The word _noble_ can also mean _possessing great honor or worthy of respect_. I agree with your previous assessment, he is quite worthy."

"Murchad…" I groused.

He cut me off, "How is it that everyone else can see it but you? Even Mae saw it, though she did not realize it. She did not believe it was a waste to give up her freedom to save you."

"She did not realize at the time that I lied to her…"

"You did not do it casually," he was trying to be reassuring, "you had good reasons. If the Templars had known…"

"Yes, if the Templars had known I doubt they would have allowed you to live since they are conspiring to overthrow you with Arl Boese," Cefin stated.

I had not anticipated that statement and suddenly leapt to my feet, demanding, "What? What are you saying?"

"This is the Templar's base of operations. I have not gone into the mines, but have been left on the surface. Arl Boese has been here repeatedly, along with a contingent of mercenaries that have been amassing outside the fort. These men do not perceive me to be a threat. To them I am a savage. They speak around me as if I am a tree or an animal. I have life, but in their minds I am without sense, so they do not guard their words or they assume I will soon be dead like most of the others here and therefore no threat to their plans. All here are doomed, so what one Avvar apostate knows is not important." He explained as I gaped at him in disbelief, "They have been plotting an invasion of some kind. Somehow they have amassed a group of ships near Jader that are accessible from here through a pass of some kind in the far end of the Cauldron. They plan to attack your city by sea."

I felt sick as I sank back into the seat. There were so many scattered pieces, and yet I managed to put some of them together. I vaguely recalled the note that Svenya had retrieved from Ser Eddols' corpse:

_"Ser Eddols, once you had been loyal to my father and would never concede to a bastard king __reigning – let alone a king who is moved by any wind that should blow in his direction. I am __trapped and am fast losing hope of ever tasting freedom again and I fear for our country's future __if Alistair continues to rule. We will be easy targets for Orlais to invade once again. I beg your __aid."_

Eddols had been part of a larger conspiracy here in the Cauldron. They had not anticipated that I would send a retinue to investigate the silence of the Cauldron arlings. When Eddols had found out about the mission, he saw it as a chance to simultaneously dispose of me and prevent the treachery from being discovered. He would have returned to Denerim and told Eamon that we had been beset by thieves. If that did not free Anora to take the throne, if Eamon resisted and tried to take control in my stead with Teagan, Eddols' co-conspirators would be able to proceed with the invasion.

Even though Sers Allnatt and Hulbert would have made it back to Denerim by this time and warned Eamon of Ser Eddols' treachery, he would not suspect something of this scope. Though he might be able to root out some of the Denerim conspirators involved, there would not be enough time to prepare the city. The best Eamon could do would be to seek outside aid.

Denerim was only just recovering from the Blight, and we were certainly not prepared for a naval attack. Our closest neighbor was Amaranthine with the Wardens at Vigil's Keep. They could not offer aid at this time. The main city had been burned to stem the darkspawn taint when a rogue band had attacked it. The Orlesian Warden Commander had just barely managed to keep peace and they were still spread thin, with perhaps only a contingent of fifty Wardens strong on hand. They would not be able to repel a force of Templars and mercenaries combined.

"So the lyrium is not for the Templars," I muttered.

"They keep some," Cefin allowed, "but the amount they mine is more than they would ever need. They push these people to meet the demand of whomever they are selling it to. They have been shipping it from their secret port, I believe, for some time – years mayhap. It is probably what is paying for the mercenaries. They do not have enough Templars to invade a large city, though they are formidable warriors."

"If we were to destroy the mine, help the workers to revolt…" I offered, trying to paw through the pieces to try and discover a way to undo the threat to my city.

Cefin shook his head, "This mine has been here for a long time. Destroying it will prevent more lyrium from being mined, but it won't damage the plan that is in place. Time is short. From what I have gleaned, they were preparing to invade soon. All their requirements have been met, it is merely the arrangements that are lacking."

Then there was no hope…

…and yet I could not help but recall what Rian had said in that dream, _"Sometimes it is not about being the hero of all, sometimes it is about being the hero of one! There is more to all this than one woman, but that is where you must start. It is all in ripples, Alistair, like in the face of a great pond when a stone is cast in to disturb the surface. They move outward. Whatever starts in the Cauldron will end in Denerim. You are in the place you need to be in order to address those resulting events and it starts now!"_

"I cannot prevent the attack on Denerim," I admitted, looking from Murchad to Cefin, "but I can do something about this mine and what the Templars are doing to these people. We must destroy it and help everyone we can to escape. Then we will see to Svenya, locate her and return her to Herfirien."

"Then I claim you as chieftain of Heidrunscap. These are your people, now, as surely as Denerim. I will be your shield and your spear. Anything you ask of me I will give." Cefin vowed, bowing his head slightly while laying the palm of his hand over his heart.

I looked at him, startled, "I am just as like to get you killed as I am to liberate anybody. We could fail miserably, cut down by Templars or crushed in a collapsing mine."

"You know this as do I. You have committed to doing this, why would you expect me to do less when I am just as trapped. At least I now have someone I deem worthy to follow." He shrugged, his expression communicating amusement, "My people are warriors, Alistair, Chieftain. When warriors recognize one as worthy and in the right, they will follow even to death. To do less is a betrayal not only of our people, but to the inner voice granted by the gods that acknowledges the presence of good and evil. The Mountain Father cast out his heart in a misguided attempt to protect himself and, in doing so, did evil to both himself and to those who relied on him. To deny what we see as right in our hearts causes us to do evil through inaction. We may fail, but we will not be guilty of evil."

"In a way, that is a type of victory," Murchad offered with a wan smile.

With two capable men so resolved, how could I falter at that moment? I clasped Cefin's hand with more confidence than I truly felt. In my mind, I thought to myself, _"Now we have a mage, but three men against a garrison of Templars is still near impossible. Though, who am I to complain? I was part of a small group that saved Ferelden from the Blight. I should be accustomed to impossible odds."_

At that moment I recalled something Oghren had once told me: _"A fair fight is far too boring. Now impossible…impossible keeps things interesting!"_

* * *

I had learned to be wary when I allowed stray thoughts of Oghren to cross my mind. He has two unusual abilities that I am coming to believe must be some form of bizarre dwarven magic (_yes, I realize dwarves do not have magic) _or a strange curse (on me, not on him): first, he can call forth obscene amounts of alcohol from nowhere to maintain a constant state of inebriation. Second, if you allow yourself to speak or even think of him, he will appear as if you have summoned him.

Once at the palace, Teagan and I had been joking about the dwarf drinking an entire barrel of pickle juice at the celebration following the defeat of the arch demon. It had been part of some kind of wager between Teagan and the dwarf, and I am not entirely sure that the dwarf lost. He certainly acted like he had won something…

Almost instantaneously, Oghren had been at my elbow, stating that he had come to ensure I was properly seeing to my wine cellars or some such nonsense. I could not be shucked of him for roughly a week, though I made sure to mandate that Teagan was required to accompany me…if I was going to suffer, then so was he. The ordeal finally ended when we agreed to spend an evening drinking with him, comparing the qualities of dwarven ale with a hearty human beer and _"that sissy wine that the Antivan elf kept talking about."_

Thank goodness that he did not require that we include Antivan Brandy…that would have probably led to far more embarrassing issues.

Teagan and I regained consciousness in the ballroom of the palace and Teagan was in a dress. I could not laugh at him because I was sprawled across the throne, my limbs all akimbo, in nothing but my small clothes, snoring and drooling. Oghren, however, was nowhere to be seen. The best I could glean from a guard was that the dwarf had departed at some time during the night, swearing that human nobles could not hold their liquor with the lowliest dwarf but, _"the pike-twirler gave it a good try."_

* * *

Cefin, Murchad and I had resolved that we needed to come up with a reasonable plan to both disable the mining operation and help the workers to revolt with as few casualties as we could manage. This was not going to be an easy feat because the workers lacked weapons and armor. The mining tools had the potential to fill the need for weapons, but they were clumsy at best. A pick was dangerous, but no match one-on-one against a Templar with a sword and superior training. Also, Cefin was at a serious disadvantage against the Templars because of their store of mage bane. If they hit him with it, he would be completely useless. If we had any hope of succeeding, we needed to plan everything down to the minutest detail and organize the revolt in such a way that it would use the element of surprise to our greatest advantage.

We agreed that we would spend at least a week examining the mine itself for weaknesses that we could utilize. Cefin would continue to monitor the Templars on the surface and how their plans were progressing to determine if there were any further movements towards the invasion. If our revolt succeeded and I managed to escape, I would need to discover a way to warn Denerim and rally support against the invaders. There would not be much time, because we knew that they would want to attack before winter hit or they could potentially have issues with ice.

Neglect became our previously unrealized ally: the Templars guarded entrances, but they did not waste their time harassing the workers or supervising them directly. They send a group to a tunnel and instruct them to mine as much ore as possible. Regularly a crew would be dispatched to gather in wheelbarrows what the miners produced. The only workers that were under constant scrutiny were the sifters, whether as a result of their frailty or the potential that they might fall into the river and be washed away, I could not determine.

I presume the Templars took it for granted that the workers in the tunnels had nowhere else to go other than deeper into the mines and, potentially, into the Deep Roads themselves. None of them would be able to get past the Templars to make it to the surface. The people were already aware that darkspawn inhabited tunnels and the Templars knew they would not stray too far from potential aid. What they did not know was that one of their workers was a trained Grey Warden and former Templar.

When our escorting Templar returned to his other duties in the higher tunnels, Murchad and I separated from the others. Our crew members knew to cover for us by working twice as hard in order to meet our quota, and the various groups set to clear knew not to call attention to our absence. Word had spread quickly among the workers and, though it made betrayal more likely, the cooperation of those who allied themselves with us was overwhelming. Their determination was simultaneously encouraging and heartbreaking: if they could not have freedom, they were content with avenging themselves on the men who had unjustly taken them prisoner.

Murchad accompanied me further into the tunnels, armed with a pick-axe, as was I. His nervousness was palatable as he gripped the wooden handle with white knuckles. He had not been trained to be a warrior as had his older brother and knew that venturing into the darkness was risky, but he did not complain. Like the other workers, he knew we either take the risk of the tunnels or we would fall in the darkness with the slow wasting of lyrium poisoning. At least we could fight back with darkspawn or Templars.

As we wandered, taking in the damp walls and the stale air, my mind wandered to Svenya.

* * *

During that first evening I had inquired of Cefin if he could Fade Walk. I had vaguely hoped that he might be able to enable me to contact her as Bruna had previously. Even if we could not speak, I might discern her wellbeing if she should cross the Fade.

Cefin had looked startled at my inquiry, "How do you know of such gifts?"

"I had made acquaintance of an Avvar woman who was able to travel the Fade and she helped to anchor me so that I might find a friend. Since you were a mage, I hoped you might be able to similarly help me." I explained, "My friend…she is in danger…if I could only reassure her that I am alive, that I am fighting to end this outrage."

"This friend would be…Mae? Murchad's sister?" Cefin prodded.

"To me she is Svenya," I smiled in spite of myself at the thought of her. Her humor, her wit, her compassion: the thoughts of her wafted over me like a soothing aroma. "She saved my life…"

His face softened with sympathy, "Such a talent is rare, even among my people. Every mage has the ability to enter the Fade at will, but travel within the Fade is still limited for us. At times I suspect that a mage's abilities prevent him from travelling freely because he attracts spirits more frequently. Most Fade Walkers are not mages and therefore the spirits are more likely to ignore them and the Fade itself does not shackle them as much. They are like foxes and the Fade is a bramble thicket, while a larger, more powerful animal cannot force its way through without potential injury to itself, Fade Walkers are drawn to the spaces and gaps around the thorns. I might be able to enter the Fade, but I cannot navigate it as a Fade Walker. I am sorry, Alistair."

I nodded, "It was a vain hope. It appears my only option is to find her in body wherever her prison is currently and deliver my message in person."

"I hope for all our sakes that you succeed," he smiled, clapping me on the shoulder.

* * *

As we navigated the tunnels, I managed to find a series of passages that led us to an upper ledge over the main chamber where the mechanism for the water wheel was located. The wheel itself seemed ancient and bore the markings of the dwarves who had built it. As the stone creaked and ground on the axle, the wheel continued to turn. Smaller wheels were also turned by the axle and pulleys disappeared behind one of the walls. A distant rumble somewhere below indicated that there were further mechanisms connected to the turning of the larger wheel.

There was no indicator as to what the grand wheel's purpose had been originally. The Templars had not done anything to utilize it and ignored it completely. It was more of a monument to long lasting dwarven construction than practical machinery. It boggled one to consider that it had not broken down in the years since Heidrun had been abandoned by the dwarves.

"Sellose," whispered Murchad, "what do you suppose would happen if one of the smaller wheels should become jammed?"

Catching his meaning, I affirmed, "It would probably cause the larger wheel to stop. The whole system that this wheel is supporting could collapse, but it is hard to say if it would have any major effect without knowing where the machinery leads and what it was used for initially. Some of it looks simple on the surface, but I am no smith. If we damaged it there is a chance it could affect the stability of the mine, but without surety of that we could injure people needlessly."

Suddenly I felt a twinge, a pinging sensation up my spine as if all my nerves snapped at once. I wheeled to stare dumbly at a nearby tunnel before grabbing Murchad by the arm and dragging him into an alcove in the rock near the heart of the mechanism.

Having been a Warden, I knew what darkspawn felt like. It was like a roiling in the gut accompanied by a small ache at the base of one's skull. It was as if you could see them with your tongue on the air. It was a sharp taste and an acrid smell that sang with the taint.

Since Wardens could sense the taint of darkspawn blood, we could also sense other Wardens. Oddly enough, it was almost comforting to me to feel that shared ache and know that my brethren were near. When you are standing shoulder to shoulder with others who share your burden, it is like a roaring in the blood. After Ostagar, after having been so accustomed to that roar, it had been lonely to only have the whisper of Tabris' newly tainted blood close at hand, but it had also brought us closer together.

When I became king, that whisper had vanished since I rarely had dealings with the Wardens except for the occasional missive from Amaranthine. It left behind an emptiness to bear the taint alone, sitting on a throne. Perhaps that is part of the reason that Wardens do not get involved in politics. Power of that magnitude makes one far more solitary. We must be surrounded by others like us to be truly comfortable…also the ability to sense darkspawn is not particularly useful in throne rooms.

That familiar whispering thrum was there and my heartbeat pulsed in my throat, calling to that taint of fellowship. As they approached I felt joy, relief…hope. I entertained the belief that the Maker had not entirely abandoned me.

There were two of them and they crept toward the precipice of the ledge cautiously, scanning the chamber below. One muttered something to the other about the wheel with a low whistle, impressed. He had moved with the muted jangle of chainmail, indicating he was in armor, though the other moved more quietly.

I knew not why they were there and I didn't care. They were the only source of aid I had seen since entering the mines. If nothing else, they might be able to help us find an exit route by which to evacuate workers from the mine if we caused the main chamber to collapse, but we had to make contact.

"Murchad," I hissed, "We are going to sneak behind them. I do not want to startle them or draw the attention of the Templars in the chamber below. When I give you the signal, move quickly. Your mark is the short one on the left."

"How do you know they are not working for the Templars?" Murchad squeaked.

"Because they are Wardens, they will help us," I reassured him.

"I hope you are right about this…"

I was surprised that they had not sensed me, but I was one. With two of them together they were accustomed to being around other Wardens with the taint. If they took notice of my presence they may have assumed it was just the taint of their companion. It enabled us to take them by surprise.

Damn….I have gotten so slow.

I took the man closest to the edge, he was perhaps an inch short than I with dark hair. I had taken my shirt off and allowed it to dangle around my neck so that I could cover my mouth and nose with the fabric if it became necessary, but he had leather armor, an obvious advantage. In order to get him safely away from the ledge and reassure him that we meant no harm, we would have to act quickly.

When he was in arms reach, I clapped my hand soundly over my mark's mouth only to be rewarded with an elbow firmly striking my ribs towards the bottom of my burns. It had been a couple of days since Cefin had treated them, so they were no longer raw or seeping, but the branded areas were still tender. We had left off using bandages on them since they were healing and the constant rubbing of the bandages were more likely to irritate them. The blow both stung and forced the air from my lungs.

With the suddenness of the blow, I lost my footing and skidded backward on some loose sand in the tunnel. The man took advantage, turning on me while simultaneously drawing a dagger. As I fell back he asserted his weight with one knee pinning my left shoulder and the other pressing against my chest. The sharp side of the dagger rested horizontally across my throat as he hissed, "Don't move!"

I gasped around the edge of the weapon and tried to regain my air so that I could take a steady breath and explain that I meant no harm. The man's eyes were hard gray slits above a sharp nose and I found myself trying desperately to remember where I had seen his face before…

The sudden familiar laughter erased all thought for my mind as I heard a familiar voice enthuse, "Well, if it isn't the pike-twirler!"

_"Oghren?" _was the first word I could gasp past my dry lips, looking up into his jolly face. Somewhere in the back of my mind I sighed, _"It figures!"_

My former comrade then chided his companion, "Nate, you had better get up and put that dagger away. You are squatting on the king of Ferelden."

The man looked unsure for a moment before taking another look at me, then an even harder look crossed his features, but he returned to his feet, sheathed his dagger and offered me his hand to help me up. He offered no apologies, but stared me down, as if I had somehow wronged him.

Oghren suddenly clapped me on the back, which stung considering he had gauntlets on and I still had no shirt, "What brings you to Heidrun Thaig, your Majesty? Did ya get bored with all those fancy balls and councils?"

I shook my head, "That is not far from the truth, but it is a far more desperate situation than that, Oghren. This is a prison mine and, unfortunately, I am one of the prisoners. I do not know what path of the Maker brought you here and I do not care. There are innocent lives trapped here and a plot against the throne that must be dealt with…I could definitely use the skilled help of a dwarven berserker."

Oghren grinned and hopped like a tot at Satinalia, "Ah…impossible odds and a good fight…I knew I missed you for a reason!"

* * *

_*This is Avvar for, "May the Lady's wings shelter us." _

_(Originally take from Welsh - probably very poor Welsh at that so please forgive me. I always picture the Avvars as being the equivalent of the early Welsh. Don't ask me why...)_


	79. Chapter 53: For the Sake of a Tear

**Chapter 53: For the Sake of a Tear**

_**Morrigan**_

They move too slow…

Even when they rush their feet drag. It is how humans are, for they are mortal and in dallying they are subconsciously trying to delay death. They think of death as a destination and are unaware of Death as an incarnation. He is following at my heels and so I must herd them forward or push them as necessary.

It was only on that day that I had some slight pause and felt a similar reluctance, for I had become aware of the humor of Fate. My seeking the object had to have a price somewhere. It would have been too much to expect that my past would remain behind me from where Death would chase me on while I ran headlong into that which I would have rathered forgotten. I was still human after all but I had to come into contact with my humanity before I could completely tear it away as discarded plumes.

Apparently the Reluctant King was a player in this farce as well. I should have known!

When I came upon my fuming knightly chieftain, I had merely planned to wait as he spent his fury in pacing and muttering. I had doubted eavesdropping would be fruitful from his anger sharpened dullness, but I listened anyway for one never knows and _oh_ what a gem tumbled from his sneering lips. His ranting spat forth the title of _"king"_ and my ears prickled as if needled by the wind.

The _"king"_ had saved him and had been lost in the woods with the dove-like sister.

Yet, I had found the sister dangling in the tree and the _"king"_ was no-where to be seen.

I knew this _"king."_ Even the scent of his presence in my vicinity made me cringe. He was a pebble in my shoe that irked but could never be shaken free. Far away, sitting on his unearned throne, he had been out of my realm of consideration and swept to the farther corners of my mind along with the memories of the woman who had loved him, though he did not merit her devotion.

He had been an evil hope once, the potential father of a soul-cast child. The necessity had irked me, but it would have provided me with a pawn or a shield to keep Flemeth at bay and would have saved the life of my friend. For myself, I would have been reluctant to take such a man's seed into my body except I saw the potential for a few moments of sweaty beastliness to yield happy results, not only for me but for all involved.

I knew he would refuse. He had two true emotions that constantly radiated from his person and was not manipulated by his bent of honor: his love for Tabris and his tooth-grinding dislike for me. He loved her for who she was and did not care about her parentage or race. He hated me for the fact that I tormented him with a witty sobriety. To appeal to him would have yielded nothing and I appealed to my friend, knowing that if she asked he would acquiesce.

I did not foresee her staunch refusal. The shock had caused me to behave petulantly, I could see that now, but at the time I had been grieved and angry. I offered her the opportunity to preserve her life. Mortals would do that without question…she however would not and I was forced to consider the inevitable conclusion of her decision and I was helpless. The woman who would willingly save me would not let me save her and I would have been forced to stand by and watch.

I could not accept that. I had bounded off into the night in the form of a wolf cub because wolves don't cry and I desperately wanted to at that moment. Escaping into the wilds I howled my frustration, my sorrow, my torment and she marched off to her destiny.

While the months following the Blight had passed, I wandered; searching for a way to save myself from Flemeth's wrath that I assumed had to be lying in wait. Eventually I stumbled across a Dalish clan and was allowed to shelter with them. The Keeper had pieces of lore, old tomes and relics that spoke of things near forgotten by her people. After lulling the Keeper into complaisance, I stole the most prized tome. It spoke of doorways, of places between and beyond, of treasures that offered power to those bold enough to claim them and warned of prices that can be paid for relics wielded without caution.

There was no room in my fevered mind for caution. I felt myself snared in the web and groped for a knife to cut myself free. What cared I if the knife should nick me in the process as long as I was free afterward? Let drops of blood fall, whether my own or that which belonged to others, so I could survive.

The prize was close; I could feel it thrumming with power as we retraced the addled Sister's likely route. The old woman clucked over her like a hen and eyed me with something between suspicion and pity, neither of which was of any use to me. I held my tongue. I nodded my acquiescence. I sighed in my relief as we finally parted company with the old Knight and headed toward my desired destination, but even then it was a drawn out parting that was maddening in its plodding.

He took his leave slowly from both the Sister and Bruna, as a man might take leave from his own family.

When I had first met him the man had held a mercenary by the throat, even with an injured arm he had seemed an immovable force to be reckoned with, even if he was older he was also strong, decisive and bold. In those stolen moments before we parted company, something seemed softer. There were lines of worry in his face; wrinkling age crept into his forehead and eyes. It was not reassuring to see him in this light before he was to go off to battle. This display stood as a testament to the truth I had long ago discovered: "One's emotional attachments made one weak."

He stood before the Sister a moment, each of his hands resting on her shoulders, his eyes searched her face. The Sister looked back at him with a glassy, sad look, as if she were trying to place a face that tarried on the edge of her memory but could not quite match a name to it. Seeing her confusion, the Knight smiled sadly and kissed the Sister's forehead, which she allowed with an almost awed silence.

Next, he turned to the Older Woman and initially I thought she might rebuff him since she seemed sullen. Her eyes were downcast and her jaw was tight, she was reluctant to look at him directly. With a pair of fingers he lifted her chin to cause her eyes to meet his and as they looked at each other, something of the softness of his mien transferred into her gaze as he spoke with a raspy tone, "This is for the best. Take care!"

"I do not take orders from you, Ser Lion!" she sniffed slightly, trying to hold back a smile.

He chuckled at that, "Do you think I am a dullard, woman? Do you think I have learned nothing from my time? I am making a humble request of my Lady, whom I would hope to find looking on me with favor when I return to her."

"I am no Lady," she sighed, "I am a cook and a cackling hen."

"Why is it the tradition of the true Ladies in these lands to claim to not be Ladies? One claimed to be a Fool and you claim to be a Hen. As surely as I am Ser Lion, you are a Lady! I will have it no other way! You are _MY_ Lady, battered tea pot and all!"

With that he gathered her into his arms and kissed her with a hungry eagerness that broke his stern demeanor. He went from being old to being young with passionate vigor and the woman surrendered to the kiss as a simpering maid might, belying the matron she had seemed mere moments before. The Avvar warriors, who accompanied their ordained chieftain, whooped and roared with laughter. They had not understood a word of the exchange between the man and woman, but they had understood the leave taking and voiced their approval noisily.

I refrained from rolling my eyes and bit my tongue to prevent remarks that would not aid in moving us forward. If they wished to dawdle there was only so much haste my presence could elicit.

When the pair finally parted, their eyes were twinkling and their hands slowly unraveled as they stepped away from one another. The Knight's resolve seemed newly reborn upon his face, but there was something else with it that went beyond stiff determination. The Avvar Woman smiled and nodded, speaking not a word more, but turned toward us, gesturing for us to follow the path that we had already decided upon. We walked into the woods, a handful of scouts serving as our protectors, as the Knight and his warriors watched us withdraw from them.

For a long time, we all walked in silence. The shadows lengthened in the trees as we ventured further toward the cave entrances that we had determined were the likely exits that the Sister had taken in her escape from the Templars. The Avvars had long been aware of them, but had avoided them since the tribesmen had claimed that the mountain openings reeked of death and decay. It implied that the caves also might have been places where darkspawn had a tendency to surface. The Sister's patchy remembrances also seemed to match the descriptions of these openings into the dark, since one particularly large cave had a large stream issuing from it and she spoke of swimming through the dark at one point.

Tiring of the solitude, I stated pointedly to Bruna, "I had not realized that you and the Old Knight were so inclined towards one another."

A ghost of a smile danced across her face, but the woman remained silent.

The walking continued and her silence needled me somehow. She was smug and satisfied and I was irked by it, so I spat, "It seems folly to have maintained a strong independence for this long in your life and then allow yourself to fall into such an infatuation. What is he to you? It is just another rope to tie you up and hold you back."

"Once I might have been tempted to agree with you," she offered quietly, "I am now bound to him. However I have recently discovered that at times having a rope is one of the few comforts afforded to those who find themselves dangling over a precipice. He is only ONE of my ropes and, in a sense, he is what is enabling me to hold on. What do you have?"

I scoffed, "I need no rope!"

She looked at me then with a weary look that bored into me, "And yet you are grasping for something to cling to! You claim to need nothing, but a chasm is yawning beneath you and your fingers are slowly losing their grip. You are seeking something to sustain you, to hold you up. Child, you desire a way to protect yourself and yet you despise your own need for a rope."

My mouth went dry, but I huffed to myself and strode ahead in feigned indignation. It would be unseemly to acknowledge the truth to either her or to myself.

She was right! I resented the fact that she felt secure, though she was embroiled in an impossible situation. Her peace was unflappable and it rippled out, carrying on the Knight with her. He, in turn, drew strength from her, even more so than the needling that I had performed. I offered insight, but she sharpened his teeth.

I had to find the _Lady's Tear_ in the bowels beneath the Cauldron Mountains. It might be the one thing that could protect me from Flemeth's wrath. It was getting harder to cling to the edge of the cliff…

…but what was truly hindering my survival was that I was running out of reasons to continue to hold on when all I wanted to do was to let go.

The plotting was all for the sake of a legendary tear that had mythologically fallen from a goddess in sorrow.

I had a goal, but no purpose. I had a life, but no soul.


	80. Int 26: Andraste's Grace & Sword of Merc

**Interlude 26: The Sword of Mercy and Andraste's Grace**

_**A Legend of the Chantry**_

_Archon Hessarian spent a wakeful night before the slated execution of the Prophetess. He already regretted following his bitter wife's demands that Andraste be slain publicly as a warning to any who would raise their hand against the Imperium. _

_Lady Vasilia claimed that the drought and famine plaguing the citizenry of the Imperium were the fault of Andraste, claiming that the woman was a powerful mage well versed in elemental magic. She refused to believe that Andraste was a messenger of the divine, the Beloved of the Maker. Her vanity and vengeance blinded her to the truth that the lowly could rise up from a savage land, among the native tribes of the Wilds. The woman mistakenly believed that destroying Andraste would wipe away all resistance._

_Hessarian rose the following morning, poured water from his golden ewer in his marble basin, but his hands continued to feel covered in grime. When he broke his fast with wine and bread, it tasted like ash in his mouth. When he dressed himself in his finest robes, he felt clothed in tatters. Standing before his people, looking down on the pyre, he felt as if he were attending his own execution._

_As Andraste was brought forward by armed guards, he longed to rescind his command, to stay the execution, but his throat felt parched as his wife looked on smugly. The Prophetess was tied roughly to the pyre and the soldiers brought forward the torches with which to set the kindling ablaze. The Archon stood and addressed the condemned woman, "Have you nothing to say?"_

_If the Lady Vasilia had hoped for tears or begging, she was to be gravely disappointed, for the Prophetess raised a voice that was both gentle and strong, easily heard above the hushed crowd, "The time for words and action have passed, it is as it was meant to be. May the Maker spread his grace on you! You have not punished me, but honored me. You have not cast me down, but raised me up for the eyes of all. You have not removed me from this mortal realm, but delivered me to the Maker's side. His glory will reign long after the Imperium is dust."_

"_Vile Harlot!" shrieked Lady Vasilia and before Hessarian could respond she signaled for the fires to be lit. The flames spread swiftly, helped along by the pitch that had been spread for such a purpose._

_Andraste did not scream, but mutely moved her lips in silent prayer as the flames climbed higher. At that moment, Hessarian realized his compliance in this atrocity was unpardonable, but was helpless to save the Bride from her final suffering. She began to smolder and writhe, consumed before his eyes._

_The Maker spoke to Hessarian, compelling him to action. Rushing down from his dais, Hessarian grabbed a great sword from one of his own guards, rushed the pyre and drove the point swiftly through the dying woman's heart, his hands and arms being severely burned in the process. It is said that the Prophetess looked at him in her dying moment and her final words were a prayer pleading for forgiveness for the man as he staggered back, falling to his knees at the foot of the pyre, and still gripping the sword in his burnt fingers._

_Lady Vasilia cried and berated her husband's weakness, but he heeded her not. He remained by the pyre for two days until the coals cooled and blackened. When the remains ceased to smolder, he called servants forward to gather the ashes that remained of the Prophetess into a simple white urn and had it brought to his rooms. He did not bathe or put away the sword that had ended Andraste's suffering, her blood dried on the blade. _

_He refused audience to his wife and all members of his court, but cloistered himself in his grief. He fasted and refused all company until his most trusted servant located and took a message to Andraste's disciple Havard. Hessarian found a way to transfer the Prophetess' ashes into Havard's guardianship in the hopes that none would defile her remains._

_Afterwards, when he had finished his time of self-imposed mourning for the Bride of the Maker, he emerged from his palace clean shaven in a plain tunic to address his people. Hessarian set aside his wife, claiming he preferred to live celibate than allow his heart and being to be ruled by one swayed by vengeance. He chose to follow the example of Andraste as a leader. Hessarian was also responsible for having the teachings and songs of Andraste collected in order that they be recorded and taught to others._

_Regardless of all his good works and service, Hessarian could not forgive his own complicity in Andraste's final suffering. He carried the sword that ended her life on his back and refused to clean the blood from the blade. The blood itself never faded, but maintained its bright crimson color against the steel. He referred to the blade as his burden and a reminded to temper all justice with mercy._

_Towards the end of his life, he was compelled to make pilgrimage to the birthplace of the Prophetess in an attempt to atone for his sins in life. Taking only two servants and leaving instructions for his intended successor, he set off from Minrathous knowing he would not return._

_After an arduous journey, he entered what is now the country of Ferelden and located the village where Andraste had been born. Having revealed his identity to none, he made his way through the huts until he found one at the edge of the settlement. An old, stooped woman sat outside and ground herbs with a mortar and pestle as he approached. As he approached her, the woman raised her head and squinted her eyes at him. Her wrinkles seemed to furrow deeper as she motioned him to take a seat on a stool by her hut._

"_I have seen your coming," the woman whispered softly, "it was revealed to me in a dream from the Maker."_

_Hessarian shifted uncomfortably and quietly questioned, "Do you know who I am as well?"_

"_I know you, but I have known you for many years. This is not the first time I had dreamed of you. I saw you first in a dream as I cradled my daughter in my arms as a babe. I saw that you were both her executioner with the sword you still have strapped to your back," the woman revealed, "I am Brona. I was Andraste's mother. I bestowed life upon my child as surely as you bestowed death. We are the knots at both ends of the string of her life." Tears streamed down the woman's wrinkle furrowed cheeks._

_Hessarian hung his head, confronted with his own shame, "I beg your pardon, good mother. I have wronged you as surely as I wronged your child and the Maker who sent her. I wish to debase myself at your feet in my wretchedness before I leave this world. I do not deserve your forgiveness." With this, Hessarian went to his knees before the woman and offered the sword on his back for her to strike him down._

"_I was only made to give life, not to take it away," the woman replied brokenly, "your punishment has been the burden of that sword. You need not carry it any more. Strike it through the ground here. Come into my home and I shall feed you."_

_Disbelieving, Hessarian did as he was bid and followed the woman into the hut. The sword stood without, abandoned and forgotten._

_The next morning, when Hessarian stirred and left the hut, where the sword had been there stood a flower. The flower itself was white with a heart the color of spattered blood, like that which had covered the sword. A fragrance exuded from the flower that was sweet and clean._

_Hessarian turned to the woman in wonder as she came walked from her hut, saying, "You have been forgiven, not because of your actions, but because of Andraste's grace and intercession to the Maker on your behalf. This flower is a sign of the Maker's provision for you and for all who turn from their ways and seek the truth."_

_Within a week, Hessarian passed away and asked to be buried in an unmarked grave, seeking no glory for himself. The following year the flower had spread across the country side. People used the flowers to both line the cradles of newborns and to be strewn upon the graves of the dead. It was meant to remind believers of the place of the Maker in both birth and death._

_Both the Sword of Mercy and Andraste's Grace have been adopted as holy symbols that are used by the Chantry to this day. _


	81. Chapter 54: The Marred Statue

**_Chapter 54: The Marred Statue_**

_Svenya/Mae_

The kitchen was near night shrouded when I entered. The only thing that beat back the dimness were the fires in the grates where a woman stirred a pot, however the timid flames themselves appeared discouraged as the cook clucked and coaxed the stew. Light and hope had all but abandoned this place, leaving the chill of the threatening winter. I gently deposited the tray on a table near the wash tub where it appeared the dishes were to be done.

"If you have done your duty by the arlson, Dery," the woman piped up, not even bothering to look at me directly, "you can go and scrounge something in the pantry for a meager sup. I fear the men brought little back from the windfalls in the orchard. There is such want in the surrounding countryside, probably some poor wretches from a neighboring village snuck in and scoured the grounds during the night when they saw how low their own stores fared with so little by way of crops. I dare not complain to the arl, or he will send men to search for those pitiful worm eaten apples and beat the luckless starving thieves. These will be the last. It bodes ill for the winter when we are so skinny in the Autumn."

I said nothing, though it made my heart ache to even consider pillaging from the pantry when there was obviously so little. I was not stealing from Boese in such a fashion, for he would not go without, I was stealing from the mouths of the servants. I knew that I could not survive the journey back to Herfirien without supplies, but I could not bring myself to pilfering from the people who so sorely needed it. I settled on quietly swiping a kitchen knife from among the silver to be polished and scanned the room for a way out.

Backing toward a likely door, I slipped into a corridor just as the woman added, "If you are going to see to the dusting in the great hall and the arlson's rooms, make sure to get that boy, Huwel, to help with the ladder. Berdic says it is demeaning for him to help with housework, being a guard now instead of a groom. He has become true proud in the past fortnight, hoping the arl will take him with him where-err he plans to go. Foolish boy, if the arl leaves I would have no desire to be his tail. Too close to where his arse can be kicked and that man well-nigh deserves the boots that could do it. There are so few of us now to do the chores…that be a blessing slight. Less to eat and more work leads to more cobwebs…" the woman continued to mutter as I left.

I thought of Kanara. The past week had both crawled and flew. She could tell me so little and yet she implied that there was something wrong with the porridge that had been sent to us, pouring it out the window and sharing her meager meal with me. She seemed so alert to every sound on the stairs or in the courtyard. When the meals came she would signal me to lie down and feign sleep. After Derora left she would watch from the window as the woman would cross the courtyard below. All the time there was something in her eyes that communicated the thoughts roiling within, but she could not share them with me.

That afternoon she had seemed agitated. When the familiar footfalls were on the tower stairs, instead of signaling me to lie down on the pallet she placed her finger against her lips, counseling me to silence. I was perplexed when the door opened and Derora looked into my eyes, but before she could cry out in surprise Kanara struck her from behind and causing the other woman to crumple to the floor, almost dropping the tray. In a whirlwind, Kanara switched my clothes with the ones that Derora wore and hid my hair under the unconscious woman's green kerchief in a hasty bun. Handing me the tray, she ushered me to the door, knocked and then pushed me through before I could respond or argue.

She had helped to free me and I had to make the most of this chance, but I feared for her being left behind to bear the brunt of Boese and my brother's displeasure. I found myself entertaining impossible plans in a vain hope of rescuing her, but I had to admit that it seemed hopeless. My window of escape under nightfall was not endless and I could not scale the tower and help her down with a rope. Even the idea of leaving Swidden and making the trek to Herfirien on foot seemed daunting. I felt lost and alone. Pondering these dilemmas, I was reluctant to steal into the night surrounding the manse, but I had no other options. If I did not take this chance, then Kanara's plan to help me had been for nothing.

Wandering the halls like a shadow, looking for the likeliest exit, I could not help but notice the truth the kitchen woman's had spoken absently. I need not have feared running into another servant who would not recognize me and raise the alarm of an outsider. There were fewer staff than one would have in a normal working household with an arl in residence. There were no maids or pages bustling with cleaning. There were no footmen at hall junctures or guards easily seen. Occasionally I would discern the sound of a patrolling, lone guardsman and would cower in a darkened alcove or behind a tapestry, pressing close to the cold stone walls.

The neglect was painful to behold. There were cobwebs in ceiling crevices and puffs of dust skittering across the halls with each footfall and skirt sweep. As I ventured down another hall, it was also obvious they had forgone candles in many sconces, perhaps rationing them.

These things implied want, which did not make sense. The Arl Boese had always been affluent, my father had often enthused over the luxury of his finery and the running of his manse. It would not be reasonable that the arl had fallen on hard times or had skimped on his household budgets. It made no sense and did not fit the persona of the man I had seen visiting my cell, with his velvet doublet, his jeweled ring and his fine cobbled boots.

I finally came to another broad corridor, better lighted and more kempt. Obviously, with fewer servants, those left opted to limit their cleaning to the places that were in constant usage by the arl. At the end of the hall stood one large ornate door and two smaller ones abutting in a corner. The large door implied a ballroom or a dining hall, not the type of place I would wish to be if there were guards. However, the smaller doors might lead to a study or a storage room that might have some useful items that would aid me in my journey to Herfirien.

The pacing guard only just missed catching sight of me as I quickly used the kitchen knife to lift the secure latch on the other side of one of the doors and slipped into the room. The room was a study, as I had suspected, with shelves of books with their usual musty smell. The walls were lined with bookshelves. In the center of the room was a large oaken desk, strewn with maps and scraps of paper. Notes and missives littered the entirety of its surface so that one could not see the top of the desk. There were a couple of chairs and a foot stool near a small table to the side with what looked to be the remains of a previous small meal that the servants had not the opportunity to remove. What seemed the most promising was a large wardrobe on one side of the room and a squat chest in another corner.

I managed to use the knife to wedge open the lock of the chest, knowing that it would leave signs of a forced entry, but I had not time to try and locate something to carefully pick the lock and hide that I had been there. Within I found a small purse of coins, a pair of riding gloves and a dagger in a leather sheathe embossed with a strange symbol. It was not a crest that I was familiar with but, thinking that having the dagger as a weapon or a tool, I tucked it into my cleavage without giving it much thought. The image of the hilt cresting above my breasts was near comical; however I had no other option on how to carry it and maintain the freedom of my hands, lacking pockets or a pack.

Opening the wardrobe, I found a fur-lined cloak that would certainly assist in keeping the cold at bay, particularly with the thinness of the borrowed shift that I wore. It was obviously one of the arl's, with its scarlet and brown colors that were reminiscent of the coat of arms that graced the wall over a nearby fireplace. The boar was all in red against the stark field of brown, like fresh turned earth. It should have been a sign of power and virility, but the crest itself appeared aged, some of the paint was cracked and it had a liberal coat of dust. I pulled the cloak around my shoulders and wrinkled my nose at the slightly sour smell of the wearer's body odor and a faint muskiness of an expensive perfume.

Turning my attention to the desk, I half hoped to find a map that might reveal a likely route that I could take in order to return to Herfirien. Having never ventured to Swidden before, I was unsure of how to find the Avvar trails unless there were some likely paths to the woods on the mountain slopes. Instead of finding a map to Herfirien or of the mountain forests, I found a newly drawn map that illustrated a narrow pass that cut through the mountain range to Swidden's north.

I recalled what Boese had said to me, _"Yes, Lady, just beyond the Northern Range bordering the Cauldron I discovered a narrow pass that can access the sea. Ships could take you to Kirkwall or Orlais from there."_

The memory was vague, but I also recalled something about him wanting to sail on the Waking Sea soon. These thoughts made the hair on the back of my neck practically itch, as if I could sense significance to them but could not entirely focus, as if I was recalling a melody but could not remember the words to the song.

I began to leaf through some of the other papers and read a brief missive that had been singed around the edges, as if someone had read it too close to a candle and it had caught…or someone had tried to destroy it and had been prevented:

_"The lyrium has been received in trade. As promised, my ally has agreed to provide you with men, ships and munitions for your endeavors in Denerim. We ask that you remember our aid to you when you have achieved your aims. Perhaps our confederacy can be of further assistance to you in a way that will be mutually beneficial…"_

_ Lyrium? Ally? Denerim? Munitions? _The words were swimming before my eyes and made no sense.

_"What is Boese planning to do in Denerim?_" I muttered, as I sifted through some more sheets. Some of them were tallies of men and supplies and some were lists of names. There was very little in the papers indicating what they were for, other than there were large numbers of men being provided for. It occurred to me that the amounts being tallied would have cost dear and might account for the scrimping of funds at the estate or the food shortages. An army could eat like a plague of locusts if one merely counted the costs, _"However, it doesn't explain about the lyrium. It sounds as if Boese is exporting it to someone, but where is he getting it from? Also, Sellose had said the Templars need lyrium on a certain level. Is it possible that it is relating to the Templars? If they are both using lyrium in trade and providing it to the Templars, that implies they are getting large amounts from somewhere. Sellose said that the Chantry provides sanctioned Templars with lyrium because they have a trade agreement with Orzammar. Could he have made an agreement with a Dwarven carta that is smuggling lyrium? Is that what is costing so much that he can't maintain the manse and a large staff? However, that doesn't explain why he would merely turn around and trade the lyrium for men, ships and weapons rather than purchase it."_

The more I stirred the implications within my mind, the more questions bubbled to the surface, hissing like steam in the back of my consciousness. It made me far more uneasy…

Then I found a small envelope with a broken seal at the very bottom of the pile. The seal appeared to be a light green wax and had a strange, rearing dragon in profile. It was not a crest of one of the Cauldron freeholds, therefore I was unfamiliar with it. The message within had a beautiful, distinctly feminine hand and read:

_"If you can free me, as you boast, I will consent to your proposed marriage. I need not enthrall you with promises of the greatness such an alliance will bring to you. A crown and land should be more than enough dowry to suit any man, provided he is strong enough to make his claim. However, I advise haste if you intend to act. Between the recovery of Denerim and the unfortunate loss of Amaranthine to darkspawn taint, the opposition is still weak enough that a decisive move should topple all resistance with few losses, but he grows stronger in support with each passing day. I depend upon your swift reply, not with parchment and words, but with ship and sword."_

_"Ship and sword?_" The wording implied that this letter related to the necessity for ships and there was a possible marital alliance, but with whom? My father had implied that Boese had no longer desired to marry me because he had made another arrangement. It was possible that the Orlesian Empress might be tempted to marry, but Boese seemed fairly far beneath her. The marriage sounded like it hinged on some action being taken against Ferelden. It didn't seem entirely unlikely that the Orlesians might consider invasion and I would have not been surprised if Boese would sell his country for advancement, but the Empress would not marry a noble traitor for a country. Would she?

Suddenly a memory broadsided me and caused me to gasp. Though it had been a moon past, I recalled the attack on the knights in the forest. The image of the short knight with his sword poised above Ser Lion in a coup de grace and intoning ominously, _"For the honor of Anora,"_ haunted my mind's eye. The words had chilled me, but it had more to do with the knight's actions than the words he spoke. Now it was if I could hear the words anew and the meaning ran deeper.

The short knight had conspired with the mercenaries to attack the Redcliffe knights, but the mercenary that had threatened my life later that same day had said they had come to the Cauldron for someone raising an army. It was conceivable that the knight had been in contact with Boese and knew of his activities through his connection with Queen Anora.

It had not occurred to me then, but I recalled the deposed Queen of Ferelden had been imprisoned in Denerim after her father had tried to claim the throne in her name on the death of King Cailan. She had refused to swear fealty to King Alistair, so she remained in residence at Fort Drakon. Boese was not playing suit to Emperess Celene, he was wooing the disgraced queen with promises of freedom and the overthrow of the rightful king.

Arl Boese was not scrabbling to control the Cauldron, he wanted to be King Consort for the whole of Ferelden and he would attack the capital city with his army by sea. It all seemed to clear now!

Without fully considering my motivations for doing so, I tucked the envelope with the letter into my bodice next to the dagger. The outline felt sharper and colder against my breast than the sheathed blade. I almost wondered if the dragon with the snake-like tongue from the seal might bite me with all its venom. The words carried a poison of their own.

I began to consider my options. I had to leave Swidden, but where could I go?

I snatched up the map that showed the pass North, reasoning that I could do just as Boese had implied and board ship. If I could make it to Denerim I would be able to hopefully obtain an audience with the king and inform him of the treachery brewing in the Cauldron. If Boese planned an attack, then perhaps I could prevent them from being taken unaware if I could manage to keep ahead of Boese.

Thinking better of my chances, I grabbed the purse from the chest that I had initially balked at taking. Passage on a ship cost money and I could only hope that it would be enough. Rather than stow the coin in my cleavage as well, I found a hidden pocket in the cloak. The coins would have been difficult to maintain in my front and I had no desire to jingle with each step.

My remembered admonition to Ser Sellose and the other knights regarding their lost armor caught me in that moment, _"__those damn things made you jangle like Chantry bells. If anyone were looking for you they would find you with ease."_ I had been speaking of something else, but I absently wondered what Ser Sellose or Rian would have thought of my jangling cleavage and I was conflicted as to whether I should laugh or cry. The sweet torture of their faces in my mind, their laughter, their camaraderie, their kindness…even their implied affections so subtle made me ache and grit my teeth.

It struck me as odd, I was travelling so much lighter now than when I had first began my journey and yet I carried so much more of a weight in my heart. I was alone and yet they haunted me with their memories.

I could do nothing for Rian now and I had done what I could to save Sellose and Murchad, but was it enough? Would it ever be enough?

Saving myself was never the issue. I knew I could save myself with very little effort or end it quickly with a slice of the dagger across my wrists and worry no longer of this world. The sacrifice, the burden, was to continue living and do what I could for others rather than take the easy road, the easy escape. I wanted to be worthy of the admiration that Rian expended on me. I wanted to be worthy of the trust that Ser Grey had bestowed so grudgingly. I wanted to be worthy of those painfully pretty words of Sellose the last I had seen of him, _"I have seen the grace you were endowed with…Your grace would put swimming swans to shame."_

Stealing from the room, listening carefully to avoid one of the few guards stalking the halls, I managed to find a garden door and let myself outside. A well stood within a few feet of the door and I drew myself some water for a drink, unsure of when I would have another opportunity for fresh water considering that I had no water skin to carry with me and could not risk searching the manse for one. I would have to rely on what I could scrounge on my journey and I hoped that the map was correct in that the pass was not too far away.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the night, with only the pale light afforded by a slivered moon, I made out the outline of a statue at the edge of the yard. Scampering quickly, I got across the open space and crouched in the shadow that the statue cast in the moonlight, taking advantage of the cover it provided in the event there should be another guard making rounds outside. Glancing at the statue, I was startled to discover that it was a sculpture of Andraste praying. Soot and scorch marks marred the surface of the marble, indicating that the piece had survived a fire. Squinting, I ran my fingers over the chiseled inscription at the figure's feet and was surprised to discover that the statue had originally belonged to the Cloughbark Chantry. For some reason, Boese had the statue brought to Swidden to grace his garden.

Peering up at the visage, more of the damage became apparent. The right side of the statues' face had been scored slightly, as if someone had taken an implement of some kind and made shallow scratches in the rock. It seemed odd, somehow, that it was the only place the scoring had occurred. The rest of it was covered with soot and one could assume that an object could have collapsed against the statue and damaged it during the fire. The damage to the face was more distinct than the rest of the burn damage, portending something dark and unforeseen.

I found myself placing a hand upon the exposed foot of the Bride, as if I felt a kinship with the statue in our mutual disfigurement, garnered in tribulations we could not control.

"_Maker, hear me…whatever grace you endowed upon a wretch like me let it be of some use. Let me fly and be able to honor the men who have so honored me…"_ was the hasty prayer I sighed before withdrawing, escaping from Boese's garden and entering the surrounding forest.


	82. Chapter 55: The Fox's Tail

**Chapter 55: The Fox's Tail**

_**Arlson Ronan Crewe**_

A fox has sharp teeth, but they are a last resort. The fox avoids the trap and thinks its way out of the collapsed den. The most you should ever see of a fox is his tail, for if you catch a glimpse of his tail it means he is far enough ahead of you that you will never lay hands on him, for he is fast and nimble. He not only survives, but he survives well with other animals that overlook him or perceive him as harmless. One need not bite the heel of the retreating hind when one can reach its throat as it grazes near the brambling brush, unaware of the danger. Teeth are for when the strike is assured, rather than expend needless worry and rush.

My oaf of an older brother, Fendril, used to bemoan the fact that our family crest was a fox. He always fancied himself a wolf or a bear.

"Foxes are pathetic scavengers," he would mock, "They are forced to wait until the big animals eat their fill and settle for crumbs. Such a symbol is fitter for a beggar than an arl. When I become arl after Father, I will change our family crest to a beast better to my liking."

He boasted this one night as he swilled his cups with a handful of his men, howling in approval, cheering the man whether out of blind loyalty or healthy wariness. They aped him to appease him most times. I calmly smiled, nodded and filled his tankard as a dutiful younger brother should, keeping my teeth covered, though I could feel them behind my quirked lips.

It was not the time to smile full. It was not the time to show the keenness with which I was endowed. I had no fear of Fendril, for the witty need not fear the witless. He was easy to manipulate with ingratiating words and subtle suggestions that were so seamless that he took them for his own thoughts.

Dear doltish Fendril! He couldn't see the beauty of a foxes' wiles that coiled like cunning snares around his ankles.

A fox need not strain his paws or maw. The larger predators may glut themselves on fur-lined muscle and touch sinew in their haste to swallow and fill their bellies. The fox knows the sweeter delicacies that a larger muzzle cannot reach and takes full advantage of the predators' flesh gorged sleepiness to do as he pleases.

Fendril was the perfect wolf or bear. He made my diversions so much easier for my father placed all authority and responsibility as a mantle on his shoulders, as was his due as the eldest son. His shadow was large enough for me to hide behind.

Father was cunning, but had become complacent and too secure in his own power. He had become too reliant on his teeth. I assume his relationship with Arl Boese had been similar to the one I had with my brother. I suspect that my father had been encouraging him to help overthrow my uncle, Arl Trian. For years Trian managed to avoid most of their machinations through sound governing tactics. He was calm and level headed while Boese was petulant and impatient. My father managed to keep Boese focused and lucid through diversions and distractions.

My father discovered the one known weakness of the Arl of Herfirien in his own den. After years of neglect and disregard, he finally took note of my blossoming sister who my uncle doted on. He knew there was good hope that the childless Trian would bestow his wealth on her. By arranging a marriage between Boese and my sister, it was possible that they would be able to achieve what had eluded them through previous guile.

However, my sister had wit in equal measures to her spirit. She was a true fox that slipped the trap my father and Boese had set, stealing the bait from under their noses. The disappointment of their rich dreams was enough to drive a wedge between them. That was when my father began sending me to be company for the boar for he grew weary of baiting and appeasing him. He took me for granted, assuming I would merely keep the boar complacent.

While I curried favor from the boar's bristles, I met Ser Manning, the sullen renegade Templar. Boese had given him quarter on his lands at my father's insistence. My father reasoned that having these Templars as a threat would keep the surrounding Avvars in check. The raids cleared a number of tribal villages before the Avvars relocated higher into the mountain ranges. Once the Avvars had served as examples, the villages of Swidden became more subservient.

Boese and my father never spoke in depth with Manning or discovered what drove him. To them, he was simply a means to an end and they cared not for the past that he left behind or why he had fled his duties from the Chantry. He was no more than a scarecrow. They provided him with lyrium to keep him and his few subordinates lucid and beholden to them which they purchased through a discreet carta based out of Orzammar.

It had been my father's recommendation, but he had been sure that all dealings had been done in Boese's name. There was little done by either Boese or the Templar's that could be directly connected back to him.

Father was a cautious fox in some aspects, though not all.

A man can be careful in using a tool, but unless he learns all facets in which the tool might be used, he can lose a wealth of opportunities. I became VERY well acquainted with the tools at my disposal. As such, I learned all I could glean from Manning.

When the lyrium supplies from Orzammar dried up in the past year, due to a power struggle among the stone dwellers, we had to adjust. We were never given the specifics, only that the death of the dwarven king had led to the dissolution of the carta which we had done business with previously.

Resultantly, for a time, Manning became near crazed without his lyrium and during this time he had experienced disturbing dreams that caused a reawakening of his previous drive in his faith. He insisted that he had received a mandate from the Maker to reverse the grave injustice that the current Chantry was perpetuating. His reliability deteriorated as concerns with darkspawn raids rose.

We had been aware for some time of an ancient entrance into the Deep Roads through a forgotten dwarven city just within the large, ornate gates. When we had heard warnings of darkspawn raids in the south, my father suggested that perhaps we should secure the opening so that we could be sure that it would not be used by the darkspawn to attack Boese. An exploration party was gathered, which my father insisted I join as his emissary to oversee the expedition along with Manning.

The city was deserted with no sign of darkspawn, just a heathenish stench. There were tools and strange mechanisms that reminded me of windmills. We even found a decrepit storehouse that had abandoned lyrium corked into ornate bottles with strange, dwarven writing. The Templars and Manning practically wept with relief over the find and I, being the leader, distributed and rationed our find. We returned to the surface, but I had found a way to better strengthen my standing with Manning.

When I reported our discoveries to Boese, I made it a point to sigh, "Tis a shame that you could not arrange for the lyrium from the forgotten dwarven city to be mined! It would enable Manning and the Templars to have access to what they need at no extra expense to you and no need to develop tasteless associations with unsavory characters. It is probably for the best, though, you would need workers to mine it. There would be too much lyrium produced from such a mine and what would you do with so much?"

Boese had a gleam in his eye as he considered my words, sitting beside his fireplace. Within the week, he commanded Manning to gather some workers and begin extracting the lyrium. In a month Manning had an entire system in place that was efficient and produced large yields that provided what the Templars required to maintain their sanity and focus. There were even large quantities to spare and it was stored for later usage.

While I consolidated my position as liaison for both Boese and Manning, reporting selectively to my father, he had begun to revisit his old plans again. Word had returned to him of a masked bard travelling around Ferelden after the fall of Denerim. He began to wonder if she might be lured back, but I had been unaware of his machinations for a time as I began to broker a potential marriage for Boese, one that would offer him a larger realm of power and enable me to further move from beneath my father's thumb.

By the time my father broached the subject of an alliance between Swidden and Cloughbark, my plans had already been finalized. I had to scramble however to come up with a reasonable alternative so that my father would not become aware of how deep my influence had become with Boese. My father needed to believe in his absolute control over the situation.

To be fair, Mae was the ideal candidate for what Manning desired. Though the new source of lyrium provided Manning with more stability, he had been shaken by his dreams and had a new mission. He confided that he had to model himself after his religious ideal so that he could begin to wrest Thedas from the control of the Chantry.

"A sacrifice, a message," he insisted, "The sin will be burned away, first symbolically, then in truth. I need a vessel, Arlson! You have been the instrument of the Maker's provision previously; I trust you will assist in this holy mission."

It only took a dropped hint to my father that my sister would need a far stronger hand than Arl Boese to tame her. Though Boese was formidable, Templars were far more disciplined and trained to bend others to their wills. Somehow these images were pleasing to my father who, after being made a fool by my prodigal sister, desired her to be humbled. Manning was strong and would brook no insubordination from the brethren beneath his lofty perch, how much more could he restrain a wife.

My father liked Manning's initiatives. He liked the meddling Chantries dissolved, for they would intercede where he strove to crush. He liked the peasant resistances broken and the people fearful, for it made them rely on his "kindness" more and prevented them from questioning him. He was the demon they knew rather than the armored savior who would cleanse their homes with fire.

Making Manning a permanent asset, assuming that a connection through marriage would offer my father more leverage, seemed a reasonable compromise to him. He foolishly thought he could control Manning in this fashion, which isn't surprising because he once thought he could control my sister. In that, as a couple, they could prove more similar than different. It did not occur to Father to question Manning's intentions towards Mae, and I am not sure it would have mattered if he had known what roiled within the Templar's inflamed, holy passions. Father was practically begging Manning to make an alliance with our family through marriage, reassuring him that my sister would eventually bend with the proper coercion, a fitting challenge for a Templar to bring the wayward to heel. Perhaps Father believed the lie on some level and Manning took him at his word. I sat back and smiled to myself as they gripped hands over their accord.

Yes, my sister would be the perfect vessel and would strengthen my hold on Manning while my diplomatic abilities brokered a rise in position for Boese through conquest and marriage. With Boese establishing himself in Denerim as the Consort King, I would run his land and the mine with the support of Manning. Manning would maintain order in the lands while I planned my next great coup. I was satisfied with allowing my father try to wrest control of Herfirien and my brother, Fendril, to inherit Cloughbark. I would not be caged by the Cauldron, for I planned to use it as a stepping stone, climbing on the backs of the vain men who believed they controlled this small corner of Ferelden.

My sister, however, would not be easily maneuvered. She was the thorny rose that would not be picked. She inadvertently drew my doltish elder brother to his death and lead to a reshuffling of positions that had the potential to undermine all that I had worked to establish for myself. She had the potential to pull the whole den down around my ears and my sire could become aware of my dealings away from his wary eyes.

Fendril was a fool, but he was a necessary fool. I did not suffer the fool; I used him as was my wont.

Murchad was timid, but he was not a fool. If he stumbled upon my plans he might accidently break all I had worked hard weave or draw my father's attention to my larger endeavors. My two younger siblings were pulling at the strange threads that threatened to unravel the planned tapestry. They had to be dealt with.

Sending Murchad to the mines had been easy enough, since Manning reassured me that workers succumbed fairly regularly and he was quite weak in his constitution. He would fall in the darkness and my father would be unaware. Father would believe Manning's missive that Murchad had fallen to a band of darkspawn and would not mourn the loss. My brother had always been superfluous in his eyes.

Arranging for Mae to be Boese's guest was also easy. It meant she had to be isolated, but Boese's house at Swidden offered the perfect parapet to house the little bird. I had arranged company for her and the sweet balm of sleep was provided for her entertainment. The warden was in no position to go against me, for I offered the only key of escape from the old boar that had terrorized her. She could tell no one else of my plans or our deal. What more would I need?

I entered the study that evening, after the dusk. I had joined Boese for the evening meal, regaling him with the progress of his armada and invasion force. It was not a huge army, but it was planned to be a decisive strike that would crippled Denerim's already weak defenses. He smiled and laughed and planned for his triumph on the waves. He drank deeply the wine and then excused himself when the strong liquor began to weaken his ability to remain awake. This was ideal for me since I would have the opportunity to consider the final arrangements in peace away from his bumbling suggestions.

Boese was certain of his victory, but in truth it was going to be my triumph and the old man did not even know it. My foxish Father was in his den, counting the days until he could undo my Uncle. My final, rival brother was wallowing in the dark caves, doomed to madness and death. My sacrificial offering for my henchman was safely housed in a tower, unable to fight or fly. Everything was assured, or seemed to be.

The room had not initially seemed amiss. The scattered missives littered the desk, the scraps from my midday meal had not been cleared from the side table, for which I would address the few staff on tenure, but it did not distress me. It all seemed much how I had left it, but on seating myself I noticed that the wardrobe door was slightly ajar, the dust on the handle disturbed and the carpet on the floor had its tassels scuffed up, as if the door had been opened to its full extent and had flipped it back onto itself.

When I got up to examine it closely, I discovered that Boese's old hunting cloak had been removed. He had not gone hunting during the previous three weeks since the weather had begun to chill and all his attention had been directed towards mooning over soldiers and his promised bride. He would not have had opportunity to retrieve it for any other purposes that I could reason. My eyes fell on the closed chest, but when I tried it myself, I found that the lock had been compromised when someone for someone had pried it open. Things had been removed, not the least of which was a bag of coins.

I returned my attention to the desk and started to feel the heat swell in my face. The recent rendering of the map of the pass through the mountains was missing. We had other copies, so the concern was not that it was lost, but the concern was how it had disappeared.

My eyes narrowed as I exhaled in one long suffering sigh.

The staff would not have touched the desk or the chest. They were too fearful of Boese and what he would do to them. To be cast off and banished from the household so close to the winter would be a death sentence and there were so few maids that they could not hope to hide in numbers. There was only one in residence on the estate who would dare to steal from Boese and might have need of the map.

I rang the alarum bell, gathered a small group of guards and marched to the tower.

The porridge that rained down on us from the upper window was answer enough of what we would find. The face in the window was not the defiant mien of my sister; it was the mute bird keeper. The indignant cries of the guards drowned out the growl that rumbled in my own chest.

Before I entered the cell in the tower, the woman cast herself down from the window. It spared me having to throw her from it, which robbed me of a certain amount of satisfaction. If I had my wont, I would have cast Mae from it on the first day she had arrived, but I had stayed my hand in hopes of reaping my needs from her marriage. I had far more patience than my Father, but she was fast wearing it thin.

What drove people to die for that ratty slip of a woman? She had no gracious beauty since Father had marred her. It was baffling how so many could love her and it was enough to overturn the careful plans of so many for their love seemed more powerful than their fear and their desire for preservation.

I sent word to Manning that we would have to go hunting in the morning, for I would not lose sleep over her that night. I would not expend myself farther than necessary for I knew she was on foot and I knew what direction she was bound. She could not get far stumbling in the darkness, regardless of what she had been taught by the Avvar witch-nurse that had waited on her in her youth. I had too many advantages and she too few.

It might have been considered unsporting, but I did not do this for sport. This was necessity. I had come too far to be caught by my tail because of a vixen.


	83. Interlude 27: Dreams Aflame

_**Interlude 27: Dreams Aflame**_

_**From the Journal of Ser Helyas Manning, Knight Commander of the Maferian Templars**_

___The dream came to be again last night and it cannot be dismissed as mere illusion._

_ I was sweating in my sleep, for I was surrounded by flames. Just beyond the flames I saw Chantry sisters, dancing in their orange robes like they too were flames who had been set upon dry wood. They sang and gyrated and tempted me with false promises of forgiveness for obeisance. Their words rang and screeched; discordant to the ears, for their words were blasphemies that only I could recognize. I saw them suddenly as they were wont to be: shriveled hags, like weathered logs that were only good for burning._

_ They danced about me and I was bound, as if to a pyre, and they were striving to destroy me, to kill me. I attempted to scream but the words caught in my smoke parched throat. Others were also tied to the pyre, but they were unaware, almost welcoming their destruction at the hands of these harlots in Chantry robes._

_ When it appeared all hope was lost and I would expire in the blaze these false women kindled, a dark figure appeared in full armor, emblazoned with a red sword of mercy on the breast. His sword blazed green and wavered as if it were made from water instead of iron. The figure ran through the women in their wantonness and he used his blade to slice the bonds that held me, enabling me to escape from the trap that had been laid._

_ I watched in awe as he picked up the corpse of each of the false Sisters and threw them onto the pyre, as if they were logs to feed the flames, making them more frenzied, driving them to roar with a sudden passion. However, he made no move to release the others from their bonds and they perished as the flames climbed higher into the night sky, the light obscuring the stars._

_ "They were unworthy," he answered grimly through his visor, as if he heard questions I had not spoken, "they allowed themselves to be tied by the lies of women. In their destruction is their salvation. They had to be purified of their taint caused by the hands of the unrighteous."_

_ "Am I yet worthy, then?" I breathed._

_ The figure turned to me and raised his blade, as if he would smite me with one downward swing. I could not even cringe from the blow, for I was overwhelmed by his air of righteousness. If such hands would end my pitiful existence then I would welcome it, for I knew he was from the hand of the Maker and wielded the blade of the Divine, for what else could cause such a light that pulsed from the sword. _

_The blade, however, was slowly lowered to rest on my forehead. The touch of the tip both froze my veins and made molten my core. It was as if I was being new forged on the anvil of righteousness, the impurities of my metal being purged through the heat, strengthening me._

"_You have been chosen to be the Sword of Mercy to this broken land. Through blood and fire you will cleanse the wayward that have turned from the Maker, swayed by the lies of women's vanity."_

_I remembered all the times I had been held back by the women who represented the Chantry: when the Revered Mother stayed my hand from dispatching the dangerous young girl who called fire to dance at her fingers, claiming the waif knew no better and should be taught how to mold her "Maker given talent" to serve others, when the Sister reprimanded me for my harsh tone with the man who had tripped at my feet, delaying me from continuing on my way, when the Grand Cleric overlooked my contributions in nullifying the threats of countless mages to praise the acts of one Sister who ladled soup for the needy, as if her actions better served than all my strivings. They were all jealous, all simpering falseness and weak willed. They did not appreciate what was necessary to exalt the Maker and make safe the land for the righteous. _

_This had been why I had left, why I had abandoned the vows I had offered at the feet of these ridiculous women and gone into the wilderness, hoping to discover the Maker's true purpose for me. I had stumbled into the forgotten valley and found the ways of the wicked frolicking in the high places and I struck them down. For this I was given sanction, allowed to remain and reap the forgotten harvest, winnowing the sinful and separating them from the grain._

_Finally, I was acknowledged by the Maker in the figure of the man before me and I took knee and lowered my head, "Instruct me and I will do as you bid."_

"_You must right the wrong, you must undo what has been done, you must recommit the land through the sacrifice of a vessel as I was once required. Only in walking my steps can you save what has been corrupted." The man spoke this gravely, and I quaked at the words._

"_Give me your name, that I might recognize he who leads," I begged, "give me the direction that I might go in full haste…"_

_With this the warrior removed his helm and I was agog for a moment as he stated, "I am Maferath, husband of the false prophetess that swayed the world. I offered her in sacrifice so that she could not further corrupt the faithful, but I did so too late. Her influence had gone too far and the women swarmed like vultures, picking clean my bones to glut themselves. The Maker required my sacrifice, but it was not enough. She was vindicated and I was vilified in the eyes of men. They succumbed to her honeyed lies, even as she burned on the pyre and now the rest of the world burns with her songs and her words. We must make them see, to realize the mistake. We must burn again in order to exhaust the tide of the flames."_

"_How must I do this…?"_

"_Find a woman as a vessel, bind yourself to her in marital contract, then sacrifice her in the name of the Maker as Andraste was once, purify the corruption of the world with the spark. Starve the fire by burning the raw wood first, and then the lies will die."_

_I lowered my head to the ground and swore that I would see it done._

_When I raised my head, Maferath smiled on me, nodding, "The Maker has chosen well. You are incorruptible. You will need fuel to sustain your resolve. The quenching river will be unearthed and you will have provision, your strength will be refreshed and renewed by what the Maker provides in the deep places. It will help to mold the world as the Maker had once purposed it before when first giving shape to all that lives and all that dies. It is the boon, sign of my truth in the mortal world."_

_With that he withdrew and I was left in the night. I was conscious that I was on my knees in my chamber, the stone cold against my skin and the stars winking through the one window._

_Tomorrow I must accompany the arlson to examine the old dwarven entrance at the behest of my patron, but now I serve a higher patron than a mere man. I will look for the boon and I will find the sign. I shiver with anticipation for I am finally on a worthy quest; one that will bring completion and purpose to a soul that had once been cowed and cultivated for menial labor beneath the yoke of deceitful women, enslaving the world. _


	84. Chapter 56: Calling Nug Shit

**Chapter 56: Calling Nug Shit**

_**Warden Sigrun**_

Considering all that had happened on our expedition: the alarming _lack_ of darkspawn, being attacked by a queer construct that resembled a golem but more violent, being nearly blown up by Dworkin, having to rein in my desire to dress the Lord Lemink like a nug on a spit and finding a largely intact dwarven thaig with few signs of darkspawn corruption on the walls of the cavern, it did not surprise me that Nate and Oghren returned from scouting with the King of Ferelden and a human noble in tow. The king was dirty, his clothes were threadbare and he seemed strangely at home in the caverns which seemed odd. His manner was calm and he was not demanding for a noble. It was a welcome change from the stuffed shirt dwarven noble whose company we endured for weeks without spoken complaint...mostly.

What surprised me was the dark scowl on Nate's face as he brought the strangers into our midst and his silence was sharp edged, as if he would stab the man with it. The last time I had witnessed Nate behaving this way was in the weeks following my Joining. He was surly and silent with the Warden Commander, giving no arguments or replies except for curt nods to Lucasta to indicate an unwilling acceptance of her orders. When not with her, he would find a corner to stand in and brood silently while watching who came and went into the Keep.

Initially I wouldn't have known the sound of his voice if not for Anders' needling him with jibes whenever we ventured out of the Keep under Commander Lucasta's orders. Anders would push Nate to the edge and Nate would grind out curt replies in low, husky growls. I was accustomed to Anders' teasing and prodding, but I could see it was wearing Nate thin.

"Why do you bait him like that? Leave the man alone," I hissed at Anders while we walked along the Pilgrim's Path. It had been a trying day for us all and we had been following a variety of empty leads, trying to discover the secrets behind the _talking_ darkspawn that had been plaguing Amaranthine.

Anders shook his head and his smile became strangely sad around the edges, "I fear what will happen if I stop, Sigrun."

"If you don't stop he could snap and stab you repeatedly until you are dead. His gift may be for the bow, but he certainly knows how to handle a blade with lethal precision and speed. You'd be dead before I'd have the opportunity to haul him off of you."

"Oh Sigrun, I didn't know you cared," he gushed with a teasing lilt in his voice, tweaking me on the nose and I felt the color rise to my cheeks.

"Not about you," I huffed, fighting down the combination of annoyance and embarrassment, "I care what happens to him and how he'd be punished for the lack of sense of one idiot mage. None of us would mourn if your incessant nattering were stilled."

Becoming more sober, Anders confessed, "I once knew a mage in the Circle, much like Howe. She was brilliant, capable, witty and strong. She went through her Harrowing without an issue. She had one close friend who she had been attached to since she had come to the Tower as a young child and the two were inseparable. Her friend's turn came a week later, but she did not survive. Kaia stopped speaking, she merely did as she was told, read books, immersed herself in her studies and went through the motions of living."

"Most of us gave her a wide berth, assuring ourselves that eventually she would tire of brooding, accept the reality of our lot and move on. It seemed inappropriate to trespass on her pain or try to encourage her to break her silence. It was not our place, you see. There were lines and considered niceties that we did not cross, to do so would be to become too close, too invested."

"One day, when she was practicing her summoning in the library, she unleashed something hideous. It destroyed a number of bookshelves and tables, injuring a number of the younger apprentices in the process; one was almost trampled to death. It took three mages to subdue and dismiss the beast. The damage to the library itself was not permanent, but it was extensive."

"The Templars immediately clapped her in irons and brought her before the Knight Commander. A number of us appealed on her behalf through Irving, explaining that she had been distracted and sad over the loss of her friend; therefore she had no concept of what she was doing and had made a miscalculation. She had not intended to put anyone in harm's way. We assured them and pleaded with them but they would not heed us."

"They could not make her Tranquil because she had gone through the Harrowing. In their eyes her emotional instability made her a potential threat to all in the Tower, so for _our_ safety she had to be neutralized. They executed her and locked away her belongings and notes in a vault beneath the Tower."

"If someone had intervened and said something when the pain was still fresh, if we had tried to comfort her, draw her out or at least needled her a little to reassure her that life still goes on and ease the pressure of her own thoughts, perhaps it would not have come to that."

I had never heard Anders speak so seriously before and some of my annoyance dissipated as I tried to argue, "I understand what you're trying to say, but Howe isn't a mage…"

"Says the woman who just pointed out he could turn me into a large pincushion at the slightest provocation…" he interrupted flatly.

I sighed and Anders continued, "Howe is already on probation for breaking into the Keep. You've heard the gossip: Seneschal Varel and Captain Garevel both wanted him executed instead of being inducted into the Grey Wardens. What would happen to him if he truly should snap? I may not look it to you, but I have the means to defend myself if he should come at me and I would welcome it if it would help to lessen some of the latent rage that I see bubbling beneath the surface. I would be able to laugh it off and he might be able to calm himself…or he might hate me for the rest of his life…it is a gamble."

I couldn't deny Anders' worries, for they made sense, but there had to be a better way to address Nate's silence and encourage him to get over his anger, if only to make him feel better and banish the clouds that hung over him.

One night, when we camped in the Black Marsh to investigate the strange happenings there, I sat beside Nate at the campfire. The light of the flames danced across his face, but he still looked cold and it only appeared to increase the shadows under his eyes. It was like torchlight dancing across cavern walls in the Deep Roads where the color doesn't add warmth but increases the foreboding.

Screwing up my courage, I stated cheerily, "I'd like to extend my deepest thanks, Warden Howe."

The words shook him free from his moping and he turned to me, looking confused as I pressed forward, "You've certainly gone out of your way to make me feel at home."

Nate cocked his head to the side and asked, "How so?"

"Being a member of the Legion of the Dead, I'm accustomed to people behaving as if there is no hope. Our battle cry is, `We're already dead so it doesn't matter. Take the Blighters with us to the Stone!' Perhaps you'd like to adopt it as your own personal mantra? I'd teach you a few dirges if it would make you more comfortable."

"You wouldn't understand…" he spat.

"Then make me understand," I quipped, "Talk to me. I promise I won't breathe a word to anyone. _Dead women tell no tales_, after all."

For a moment he just stared at me. I almost expected him to get up and stalk off into the brush to relieve himself where he was certain I wouldn't follow or snarl that I should mind my own damn business.

Instead his shoulders stooped and he looked very weary, like he had been carrying a heavy burden. His words began slowly, as if he had forgotten how to use them after so long silent. He spoke of his father, of the shame he had to put up with and of the guilt over not being there to talk him out of the path that ultimately destroyed his family. He spoke about his anger over finding his childhood home filled with strangers who didn't care about the proud about the pasts they trampled over like clumsy brontos. He wanted to lash out at the unfairness he felt and he acted without thinking, going through the humiliation ending up in a dungeon cell, where he had been told as a child, "only bad people end up there. If someone is in the dungeon, they deserve to be there." It made him sick to think he was one of the _"miscreants"_ his mother had warned him about.

He'd wished the Warden Commander had executed him rather than live the ongoing penance of accusing stares and people speaking his family name as if it were a curse.

Oddly enough this was not the first time I'd heard this type of story. It was a common one among the Legion. He was like Varlan and many of the other nobles who had lost their station due to politics or poor choices during a moment of anger. One moment you were living in the Diamond Quarter, and the next you were lower than a duster. He was a good man, he didn't deserve the death sentence we all had, but this was reality. Reality wasn't about fair.

When his bile was spent, he looked at me expectantly and I stared back with the frankness that I had garnered over the many times I'd heard stories like his, "You are right, it wasn't fair, it wasn't your fault…now what are you going to do about it?"

"Pardon me?" he demanded, not believing his ears.

"Your father is dead, you're not," I pointed out, "I've met many men in similar boots as yours and they all embraced the situation and made the most of it."

"They all threw themselves funerals and determined they would live as if they were dead," he spat angrily.

I chortled, "Do you honestly believe you have done any differently?"

He jumped up and started pacing, cursing under his breath, like he had forgotten me sitting there. Over time the pacing became slower and his sputtering slowly died as the moments passed. Eventually, when he was calmer I beckoned him back to the log for him to sit next to me again, which he did, leaning his head into his hands, saying, "How can I live if my name is dead? How can I go on if my honor is dead?"

"You do realize you are posing this question to a dead woman, right?" I clapped him on the shoulder, "Cheer up; no one loves a grump."******

His sudden bray of laughter sounded forced, "For a dead woman you are remarkably perky."******

"I could be less perky if you like. `The darkness of the Deep Roads is seeped into my soul. The world is dead, my heart is black. Alas. Woe. _Woe!_'"******

"Let's stick to perky,"****** Nate suggested, with his first real smile. With that he sighed and excused himself to drain the darkstalker in private.

When he was gone I thought I felt eyes watching and I turned my head to catch Anders lying on his side on his bedroll, his head propped up on his hand and smiling smugly at me. Obviously he'd heard most of what passed and I braced myself for him to laugh at me, but it didn't happen. Without a word he blew me a kiss and winked before going back to sleep. He and I never spoke of it after that.

* * *

Looking at Nate glaring at the King while leaning against the cavern wall, arms crossed, it was like I was looking at the man he'd been before, the man I was certain he'd abandoned.

Oghren, as usual, was oblivious to Nate's mood since he possessed the attention span of a gnat. He introduced the King to us with the enthusiasm of a man introducing a long lost drinking buddy to his wife: "Well you rotters, this pike-twirler here is King Alistair of Ferelden, an old friend you might say…" then he made a careless gesture to the other man accompanying quietly at his elbow, "and this `ere is…um…didn't catch the name, Son…"

"Murchad Crewe," the man said, barely audible, seeming intimidated by Oghren.

"Speak up, Lad!" Oghren bellowed, his beard quivering, his braids catching some of the spittle as it flew with the exclamation.

The man cringed around the eyes and looked toward the King who bit back a grin and shrugged. Yeah, the King had to be a friend of Oghren's if he wasn't surprised. It was one of the few strikes against the King at that point, but no one's perfect.

"Anyway," Oghren plowed on like a pushy bronto, "they need our help. T'seems a group of Templars are using this old thaig as a prison mine to get lyrium."

"Is that even possible?" Temmerin interrupted, "Humans don't know how to mine and have no tolerance for lyrium."

"Such an act is an open invitation for war," sputtered Lord Lemink, "it nullifies the trade agreements and peace treaties Orzammar holds with the surface."

At that the King stepped forward and said, "I quite agree, however these Templars are doing this without sanction from the Chantry or the Landsmeet."

"If these actions do not have your sanctions then what are you doing here, King of Ferelden?" Lemink demanded, squaring off against the King, waving about an accusing finger, "When I return to Orzammar there will be a reckoning. King Harrowmont will demand an investigation and your treaties will be rescinded in answer to this outrage."

"Listen, you rutting deepstalker," Oghren blasted, cutting Lemink off and causing him to take a step back from Oghren's ale saturated breath.

"Please," asked the King, raising his hands in a defensive posture, "I am here as a prisoner and believe me when I say that I want justice done here as passionately as you do."

I caught Nate snorting at that comment, but he remained silent, his expression blank.

Seok came forward then and walked around the King once or twice as if examining him more closely without actually touching him, "It appears the rumors in Weisshaupt are correct. I can feel the taint in you. They had said the King of Ferelden was a Grey Warden, but I could scarcely believe it. This is unprecedented."

"He's a Warden?" Lemink squeaked, rethinking his previous accusations and losing some of his bravado.

"Aye," Seok grinned a little, I think he liked hearing Lemink brought down a peg or five, "He was crowned shortly after the Archdemon fell in Denerim. He was partially responsible for driving the darkspawn from the city. Not surprising, all things considered…were you not aware of the nature of the King of Ferelden, particularly since his kingdom is Orzammar's closest trading partner."

Lemink made a wave with his hand, "I pay no attention to human politics and I wasn't present when the dwarves marched with the humans on Denerim."

"Probably because you were too busy hiding with your house back in the Diamond Quarter while other people did the Ancestors proud," muttered Temmerin just out of earshot.

Seok looked about to say something when Nate cut in flatly, "Since King Alistair, the bastard son of King Maric, was formerly a Grey Warden he is no doubt aware of the Warden Stand regarding interfering in issues not directly influenced by the darkspawn threat as necessitated by the Dryden Mandate. We, as Grey Wardens, are not permitted to take part in any upraising that is political in nature," Nate nodded, his words harsher, "You definitely have a problem, your Majesty, but that is what it must remain: _your problem!"_

Nate's anger surprised me but the King remained calm, "If you are a Grey Warden of Ferelden, as your accent indicates, then you know what we faced on these shores. I am not a former anything since one does not cease to be a Warden even if one wears a crown for, as you well know it is in _our_ blood. As for this not relating to darkspawn, you could not be more mistaken."

"Look around, your Majesty," Nate gestured with a sweep of his hand, "notice a distinct lack of darkspawn in this ruin. We have not sensed any since coming to this place."

The King continued unaffected, "Have you not wondered why, particularly considering the disaster in Amaranthine and the reports that Warden Commander Lucasta have sent me? Why are there no darkspawn here?! I have poured over those missives and reports in great depth and I am fully aware of what is supposed to occur when a Blight has ended. Darkspawn are supposed to return to the Deep Roads without the leadership of an Archdemon, and yet here they linger on the surface."

"Almost a week past, when I was being brought to this place, the travelling party was attacked by a darkspawn raid. This was on the surface, mind you, in an area that was barely touched by the Blight since the bulk of the Horde focused its numbers on the areas south and east of here. The Blight is a year gone and there are still above ground raids. Tis not merely coincidence, I wager. We have innocent people that need to be shepherded from these tunnels. Without your aid it would be a potential massacre if the darkspawn should take them unaware."

"How many people?" I piped up, suddenly considering the numbers of people trapped here.

"Over a hundred," the King answered, softening as he turned to me, "though the numbers vary by the day. These people are slowly dying and dwindling away their sanities with lyrium poisoning. If we don't move soon, these people will have no chance at all."

"This information is greatly troubling," Seok allowed, though I'd suspect it had more to do with the continued darkspawn surface raids than the people trapped in the thaig, forced to labor to death. He tugged on his gray braids as he considered what the King had told us.

"Do you have a proposed plan for how we might get these people out of the thaig?" This came from Voldrik who always considered the angles of a problem like he considered the weight of a stone. I could tell he was thinking about all the potential problems in his mind before throwing an opinion into the fracas.

The King sighed, like he was tired with all the explaining to a group of pushy dwarves, "It is my hope to cause a diversion of some kind. We want to both liberate these people and disable the entire operation to prevent them from continuing with the mine. I was toying with the idea of sabotaging the giant mill wheel that is being turned by the river that runs through the caverns. It isn't clear what its purpose is or what mechanisms are attached to it and I fear acting blindly in the event that it causes a complete collapse that could potentially endanger the very people we are trying to save."

Voldrik reacted with amazement, like he failed to hear the rest of it, "There is such wheel? I had read of descriptions of such wonders in the Shaperate that are used in mining thaigs. Heidrun thaig was once a mining center for our people, so it is not surprising that they would have had one but the fact that it still turns after so many years is immense. I must examine it for myself."

Lemink, the bloodsucking noble, thought only of the financial prospects, "I will not permit you to destroy such a vital part of our dwarven heritage. Consider the artifacts lost if you destroy the caverns surrounding this thaig. The mine is obviously rich in lyrium, since these renegade Templars, as you say, are going to such lengths to obtain it. This thaig needs to be reclaimed for the glory of the Ancestors and Orzammar. To collapse it would be blatant disrespect and should not be done without the permission of the deshyrs."

"So the fact that your House would probably claim trade rights does not influence your concerns regarding the restoration of this thaig?" Temmerin said under his breath, which I could only hear because he was just behind my shoulder, watching this whole exchange as I was. Either Lemink didn't hear him or ignored him for he made no retort.

"If you need a diversion, I have plenty of explosives," Dworkin winked at the King as he sidled up to his right. He could recognize an opportunity for a test whenever it reared its head.

"Nothing is going to be blown up because we are not becoming involved here," Nate exploded, taking charge of the discussion once again, causing everyone to turn toward him and away from the King, "I was chosen by Warden Commander Lucasta to lead this mission. We must adhere to the principles of the order and remain neutral in this obviously political situation."

"Open your eyes, Lad, this deals with the soddin' principles of the Grey Wardens. King Alistair already told ya' how the bleedin' darkspawn figure in. We can't just abandon him now, not when he needs our help." Oghren was once again oblivious of Nate's anger which was beginning to seethe dangerously.

Cold eyes bore down on Oghren, daring him to argue, "I was put in charge by our Commander of this mission or do you deny that?"

Oghren began to deflate, wary of Nate's words that were more frigid than a golem's tit, "Aye, Nate, you were chosen as leader."

"And did you or did you not promise to follow my commands in order to fulfill our mission?" his voice was quieter but hinted at more danger than when he was shouting.

"Aye, Nate, but…" Oghren said before being cut off.

"Then this is not up for discussion. I am sorry your Majesty, but as Wardens our responsibilities are clear. We are unable to interfere in this instance. If you will excuse me, I must scout the south tunnel and make plans for our prompt departure. Warden Seok, accompany me please." Without waiting for further reply, Nate turned on his heel and marched away. Seok raised his eyebrows quizzically to me, but followed dutifully as he was bid.

The King looked ready to bolt after Nate, perhaps to argue or perhaps to throttle him after such a power display, but Oghren grabbed him by the arm, "Let him go, Son. This is a fight you can't win that way. You don't have the clout with him to change his mind short of killing him." With that Oghren looked at me.

I knew what Oghren was angling for me to do but hated having to do it. I'd never appealed to Nate's friendship when faced with matters of protocol. I trusted Nate and his common sense, but I knew this wasn't about the Warden codes. Underneath there was something personal gnawing at Nate's balls and it had little to do with the reasons fed us.

After swallowing my reluctance, I jogged after Nate and Seok, trying to overtake them. With the heightened ceiling of the cavern, Nate strode a little faster and his irritation added to his speed. Each of his steps were worth three of mine and I had to call after him as we went around a bend and behind a broken down stone dwelling, "Hey Nate, pull back the reins on the bronto, will ya'?!"

Nate stopped, turned and glared at me as I scrambled to catch up. We had gone a ways by that point so we were out of both ear shot and could not be seen by those left behind.

"So, where is the brood mother?" I quipped, craning my neck to look up into my surly superior's eyes.

Seok requested before Nate could lay into me, "I would like to scout further east to confirm the markings from the old maps. Please excuse me, if you would?" After waiting for Nate's nod of dismissal, Seok walked away probably grateful he was not the luckless duster who Oghren had nominated to reason with Nate.

"Now that we're free from prying ears, what was that guff all about?" I asked, crossing my arms, communicating with my body language that Nate's explanation had better be good.

"I do not know what you are referring to," Nate evaded with a semi-haughty face.

"Don't play Lemink with me," I shot back, "I would never undermine you in front of the others, but now that we are alone I can identify nug shit for what it is."

"How dare you speak to me that way, Warden Sigrun," he snarled while he bent his head and leaned his entire posture to better glare at me.

"How dare you insult our friendship by pulling rank," I bullied right back, taking a step forward to communicate I wasn't backing down.

"It is my responsibility at the Warden in charge to prevent us from making a grave mistake," he insisted, pointing back the way we had come, "and believe me when I say _that _would be a grave mistake!"

"Really?" I pressed, "It's my responsibility as your friend to prevent you from making a noble ass of yourself and you're sure as stone not making that easy. Come on! Feed those poor excuses to a stranger and not someone who knows you as I do, Warden Nathaniel Howe!"

Nate growled at my using his full name, nearly howling with frustration, gnashing his teeth and turning his back on me, stomping up the tunnel a few paces until he could calm himself. He took deep breaths and hunched his shoulders, looking defeated.

"Sig," he finally rasped hoarsely, "he is King Alistair. He is one of the people who executed my father."

The shiver came of its own accord at these words. Nate confided in me long ago about his father and the crimes he'd committed. He accepted the fact that his father was a traitor to his country, especially with all his sister had told him about the time leading up to the Blight. None of this changed the fact that he loved his father and the King who was asking for help had killed him.

"I'm sorry, Nate," I walked up to him, placing a comforting hand on the small of his back where I could barely reach, but it seemed more appropriate than resting my hand on his ass. He did not shake it off or step away but chose to remain like that for a time, his head bowed, his eyes closed and his cheeks damp.

"I accept this is hard," I said softly, "but you know the truth. You once railed at me over the unfairness of being condemned for someone else's actions. There are almost a hundred innocent people trapped here. Can you condemn them to die over this grief over your father?"

"There is also the Dryden Mandate to consider, Sig," he pointed out.

I sighed, he was not going to let go of this as easily as I would have wanted, "you have acknowledged that this King…Alistair? …he's a Grey Warden. He made sound arguments connecting what is happening here to the darkspawn. We were sent here to investigate the Architect's possible influence. Though he admits there are rogue Templars imprisoning these people, it seems too convenient that there was a surface raid in this area. Am I wrong?"

"You are not wrong," Nate replied hollowly.

"Also, with these Templars running this mine here, eventually the darkspawn will attack them and these people since they are operating so close to the cusp of the Deep Roads. The presence of the Templars is getting in the way of our investigation and could lead to further darkspawn activity on the surface. Perhaps the darkspawn are going to the surface _specifically_ because the Templars are here."

Nate nodded, listening to me but giving no sign that he was agreeing with my line of reasons.

"There are diplomatic reasons as well for the Order to be involved. The recent King of Ferelden has supported the Order, offering both provisions and a base of operations. If something were to happen to this King, what could potentially happen to our Order's support? Separately, Lord Lemink expressed an interest in the thaig and will take this information back to Orzammar. We must maintain the Warden alliances in both cases."

"So," Nate responded, finally turning to look at me, "You wish me to relent for these reasons that you have laid before me?"

As his friend I had to offer complete honesty, and I shook my head, "No. These are all good reasons, but they're not why _I_ want you to do this."

"Give me _your_ reason then," he prompted with a nod of his head.

"Do you remember when Amaranthine burned?"

He looked confused, as if he were unsure of what the past event had to do with our present problem, but he did not question, "Yes."

"Do you remember my response when Warden Commander Lucasta ordered us to stand down and leave any potential survivors to their fates?"

His jaw tightened with the memory of that dark day and he nodded sadly, "Yes."

"Do you remember what you said when I challenged Lucasta? How I pleaded to be allowed to go alone and save anyone I could find?"

"Yes."

"I feel like I'm at the gates of that doomed city again watching helplessly as it burned, as those people were consumed in the fire to stem the potential taint. Don't ask me to blindly turn my back on these people, Nate. I will stand with this King and the Dryden Mandate by damned!" I sounded angrier with these final words than I meant, but I couldn't help how I felt.

"You really feel that strongly," he whispered, "You would defy orders?"

"Yes, because I know it's right!"

He groaned, lifting his head to the ceiling, staring blindly at nothing, "Do you know what you are asking me to do, Sigrun?"

"I'm asking you to let go of the stone and walk on the surface even though you feel like you're falling into the sky."

The bark of his sad laughter was familiar. He always did it when he was about to _gracefully_ surrender, "Remember, I am only doing this because you asked me to."

"Aye," I rasped, shaken by how deeply it touched me, "I appreciate it."

"I was far more prepared for Oghren to try to cajole me into this than for you to make this request. I could have withstood that far better." He again fixed me with his gaze, his eyes resigned.

"I'm entirely aware of that," I responded with a cheeky grin, patting him on his side, "Now come, fearless leader. We've got to tell our party that you changed your mind since you've discovered recent darkspawn signs in these southern tunnels that've caused you to wisely rethink your previous determinations."

He shook his head, allowing a brief smile to tug his lips, "Nug shit!"

* * *

****Dialogue taken from the game, Dragon Age: Awakenings and adapted to fit the story.**


	85. Chapter 57: Facing the Past

**Chapter 57: Facing the Past**

_**Alistair / Ser Alan Sellose**_

"I'm sorry, Sellose," Murchad sympathized after the lead Warden stalked off, "but we will manage."

The dwarves that had been speaking animatedly moments before fell into an uncomfortable silence with the departure of the human Warden who had refused aid with an air of finality. Oghren prevented me from appealing to him further and that exhausted my last opportunity for aid.

"We have to return to the others before the Templars discover we are gone," I answered, heading towards the tunnel that would lead us back to the other prisoners.

The pompous dwarf, the one that I assumed was some kind of noble from Orzammar the Grey Wardens were temporarily saddled with, looked aghast at the suggestion that we return to the laborers, "Why are you returning? Now that you have found us you could return with us to the surface. There is no need for you to spend a moment longer in discomfort with those _other_ prisoners."

I had to squelch the desire to punch him in the face. It would have felt immensely satisfying to feel the little man's nose crack in a red pulpy mass against my balled up fist whilst blood fountained from his ruined face. However, it would not have helped what was truly prompting me to hit him and vent my frustration. I had wanted to hit someone for weeks and the arrogant dwarf was a lesser representation of all that I despised in Arl Crewe, Murchad's brother and Ser Manning. It was that disgusting sense of superiority and entitlement that enabled them to torture, maim and leave people in a dark hole to die. These prisoners were beneath them because they were born to the poorer masses and lacked power and it made nobles believe the Maker had therefore given them the right to use them with impunity.

My fist remain balled at my side and I refused to give in to the baser desire for violence, making my way silently to the northern tunnel entrance with Murchad dutifully at my heel. The little hope that I nurtured in my heart was doused in water and writhed in its death throes. If I had been alone I would have been tempted to walk into the Deep Roads, search out some darkspawn and make a glorious end of it, but I had a responsibility to Murchad, Cefin and the other workers, swearing I would release the workers and destroy the Templars' mine. I would not abandon them.

"I will never understand humans," I heard the noble dwarf huff to one of the others.

"You know as much about humans as you do anything else," a terse voice replied in kind.

"Hold up," Oghren barked at me and the sound of his greaves clattered as he hurried to catch up. It took him but a moment and he was beside me, keeping pace with my strides as we walked through the tunnel. Venturing a sideways look, I noticed his agitation, tugging his red beard braids as he did when he was conflicted about what to say next. He rarely became like that due to his reckless decisiveness and penchant for acting first and considering the consequences later. Most often the beard tugging was reserved for when he was impulsive one too many times and someone required an apology; a particularly difficult and unseemly proposition for dwarves.

Oghren had once informed me emphatically, "Berserkers don't apologize, Lad."

It was only a week travelling with Tabris when she taught him differently and it had been a hard won lesson for both of them involving drawn weapons and a certain amount of bruises and cuts divided between the two. Before the sun set on that day, Tabris had the apology she required and Oghren was passed out in his tent with all of his extremities still attached.

When I asked Oghren about it the next day, he gave me a gruffly adjusted version of his previous stand, "Berserkers don't apologize, Lad…except when there is a woman involved: the heavily armed kind who'll skewer you if you don't."

I wondered what Tabris would have done in my position when faced with an irascible Warden and a group of mismatched dwarves. She might have been just as perplexed as I, considering she never balked at offering aid where it was required and would have difficulties understanding the Warden stand of neutrality in political conflicts not directly related to darkspawn. Diplomacy wasn't in her skill set either, so she might have been hard pressed to curb the Warden's apathy short of threatening to cut off the man's balls and feed it to him.

According to her cousin, Shianni, she had always been that way and it had often gotten her in trouble and had led to the necessity for her to be conscripted by Duncan in the first place when she ran afoul of a Denerim lord. Nerine was endowed with fierce compassion and loyalty and that informed every decision, every action. Even if a person didn't instantly fall in love with her, he would learn to respect her and her stubborn refusal to back down. It made her favored in Orzammar where such personal qualities were encouraged among the noble elite.

My thoughts then wandered to Svenya of their own accord. What Nerine had lacked in verbal grace, Svenya had it by the barrel load. She would have been the most successful in dealing with this situation: talking to the Warden, charming him or making him laugh. She had managed it with Ser Grey, a man I would never have believed it possible to pacify with words, so the stubborn Warden would have been no match against her. If that failed she would have argued and twisted his words back on him until he could no longer resist. She too would have refused to leave until he agreed to help.

It grieved me to think they both would have been sorely disappointed in my end result: retreating back into the tunnels like a dog with its tail between its legs.

"Sorry, Lad," Oghren interrupted my thoughts of self-pity, "Nate isn't usually like that."

I stopped and snapped, "Who is he? Why is he being so unreasonable?"

"Nate's a bit stiff when it comes to rules…"

"That doesn't excuse it Oghren," Snapping, I verbally teared into him since I could not do so with the Warden who refused to help rescue the workers.

Oghren shook his head and muttered, "I should'a thought he might react that way when seein' you. It took time for him to accept me, even…"

"What are you talking about?" I demanded.

"He's Nathaniel Howe, the son of Arl Howe. You know, the man we killed in his own dungeon when he kidnapped that ungrateful bitch Queen?" Oghren looked mildly guilty, as if he felt he was betraying the man by revealing this to me.

I could think of nothing else to say in response. All that ran through my head was, _"Of course, the one man who has the power to help me out of this impossible situation is the man whose father was killed for being an unrepentant, power hungry traitor. Maker, why can it never be easy?"_

"Sigrun'll straighten it out," Oghren reassured me, though he did not sound entirely sure he believed it.

"We have to get back, Oghren," I shook my head, "If we don't the Templars will execute the people who are covering for us. We can't let them discover our ruse." We left Oghren behind there, locating a narrow shaft that looped back to the one we had originated from.

The men and women moving the schist and scraping the walls with their picks looked even more wretched and frail to me when we returned to take up our positions. They glanced at me with hope just barely glimmering in their dull eyes. I had to force myself to smile in return, choking back my own despair as I whispered with faked reassurance, "We have a plan; we just have to figure out the best route through the tunnels to get everyone out."

That night we met with Cefin in his tent and he informed me, "The Templars abandoned another person to the forgotten tunnel, a man this time. He had been a strong man once…"

I exhaled and ran a weary hand over my face.

Murchad placed a hand on my shoulder, reading my frustration and pain over the events in the caverns, "Mayhap the Warden will change his mind?"

"I do not believe he will," I declared, discouraged.

"Warden?" Cefin's confusion prompted me to explain.

"There are Wardens exploring the Deep Roads near the mine. Murchad and I came across them when we were exploring and getting a feel for the lay of the tunnels this afternoon."

A look of outrage passed across Cefin's face, making it dark, and his tone became thunderous, "They refused to help? They know what is happening and they are going to do nothing?"

"It isn't that simple, I am afraid. There are codes they must follow and cannot deviate from them. I don't necessarily agree, but it is not my call. If nothing else, they will have to report to the Warden Commander in Amaranthine and she will probably inform the court in Denerim what is transpiring here," I found myself making excuses, though within I had difficulties justifying what had been decided by people who, at one point, I would have recognized as my brethren. It made me wonder if I had remained active in the order if I would have been equally dismissive and narrow minded.

Cefin growled, "We have heard of the Wardens and they are praised for their battle prowess. However, a warrior unable to defend the weak lacks the heart that makes him truly great."

"We do not need them," I reassured Cefin, "I am Warden enough for all of us."

"Since you must fill the jobs of two men then you probably need twice the sleep," Cefin countered, still seeming anxious and grieved but seeing no point in continuing to rail on the topic, "Go and use the pallet while I check on the people in the other tents."

I nodded dumbly, feeling hollow, and stretched out upon the mat in the corner of the tent. Murchad accompanied Cefin to offer aid and an extra set of hands. As I heard them walk toward the cluster of tents and felt the draft of air that came into the tent from where the fabric met the ground. There were low murmurs from the other workers carrying on conversations and it made the air hum, reminding me that I was not alone and how much was at stake.

Goosebumps rose on my arms and I crossed them over my chest. My hand absently brushed over the outline of the sword of mercy that was still raised enough that I could feel it through the thin tunic and I cringed, though it no longer pained me. It was a reminder of my inability to protect Svenya and Letha from Ser Manning and the Templars. If I did not do something, it would be the same for all the other workers. Failure was not an option: I had to be the hero.

It would have been expected that sleep should elude me while I was so troubled and sick at heart, but it drifted upon me shortly after resting my head on the ground, stilling the murmur of my responsibilities.

* * *

_I was becoming oddly accustomed to my dreams and to my _other_ self. Once again I was in the dream throne room in the palace at Denerim. My doppelganger sat on the throne, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his chin resting on his clasped hands and looking as discouraged as I felt. The throne itself looked rusty or tarnished, as if it showed its falsity by implying physical decay. I approached him on the dais and stood regarding him with my arms crossed. Even in the dream I felt the brand as a dull ache, oddly reassured me that I was tied to something real and my pain maintained my humility and humanity._

"_You are not going to berate me?" asked the doppelganger with mild puzzlement._

_I shook my head._

"_It has been a difficult day," he declared glumly._

"_It has," I agreed, beginning to pace, "Warden Howe is completely unreasonable. He's allowing his personal feelings to condemn all these people, insisting on hiding behind the Dryden Mandate as an excuse."_

"_He would not be the first to do so. You are guilty of as much," he asserted pointedly, his eyebrow skewing with unspoken rebuke._

"_I have never…"_

_The doppelganger raised his hand in a gesture indicating I should cease speaking and then gave a negligent wave toward the floor. Turning, I saw a bank of mist part and a scene from the past played before my eyes._

_It was the final moments of the duel with Loghain. I saw the shadow image of myself swing, parry, thrust and wear down the older, larger warrior. The Hero of the River Dane had been formidable, but I fought with the fury borne of righteousness. He had betrayed the king and my brethren unto death. He sent assassins after us and made deals with slavers, allowing Arl Howe to torture and kill with impunity to cover his own guilt. With each blow the anger and hatred seethed in me until he was on his knees before me, out of breath._

"_So, there is some of Maric in you after all. Good,"** his voice was husky with his gasping, his head inclined slightly, refusing to look into my eyes._

"_Forget Maric. This is for Duncan,"** I snarled, raising the sword above my head, ready to strike down on the man before me._

_The sound of Riordan calling is the only thing that gave me pause before I could complete the execution, "Wait! There is another option!" The elder Warden elbowed his way through the crowd, coming forward, explaining, "The teyrn is a warrior and general of renown. Let him be of use. Let him go through the Joining."**_

_ As I watched, I could see the shock and abject loathing pass across my countenance, unsure if I had heard him correctly, but Tabris cut in before I could argue, "Why, Riordan?"_

_ "There are three of us in all Ferelden," Riordan explained calmly before pausing, his eyes flicking to Loghain momentarily, as if considering carefully what he was about to say before he continued, "And there are…compelling reasons to have as many Wardens on hand as possible to deal with the archdemon."**_

_ "The Joining itself is often fatal, is it not?" Anora latched on to Riordan's argument, using it as an opportunity to plead for her father's life, "If he survives, you gain a general. If not, you have your revenge. Does that not satisfy you?"**_

_ "Absolutely not, Riordan, this man abandoned our brothers and then blamed us for the deed! He hunted us down like animals. He tortured you! How can we simply forget that?"** The rage was palpable, my face flushed as I turned accusingly on Riordan. _

_ Watching myself in that moment, looking back, I was empty of the anger that had once controlled me and demanded blood. Part of me wanted to still be angry, to wrap myself in that sense of righteousness that enabled me to feel justified, that made my hands itch to complete the killing stroke. Knowing what happened after, though, made it difficult to remain blind to the cost of that demand._

_ "You can't do this! My father may have been wrong, but he is a hero to the people."** Anora was struggling to remain controlled and maintain the façade of neutral calm, but the desperation was a spark in her normally cool blue eyes. _

_At that time I was blind to it, of Anora's pained reasoning. I had been blind to Riordan's worry, not questioning his obvious reluctance to directly state why we might need Loghain, to consider what he had not said in his moment of pause. He worried over publicly revealing the Warden secret, of the true necessity of the Wardens' presence to kill that archdemon that he would share with Tabris and I privately in a chamber in Redcliffe Castle sometime later._

_ One person had noticed Anora's internal conflict: Loghain, "Anora, hush. It's over."_

_ "Stop treating me like a child. This is serious." She whined at him, irritated, trying to keep the realization of what was really happening at bay._

_ Loghain shook his head, near wistful, "Daughters never grow up, Anora. They remain six years old with pigtails and skinned knees forever." _

_He knew I would allow no mercy and he accepted it. His one concern had been for his daughter and he tried to help her accept the inevitable conclusion of what I demanded. As I watched, he no longer seemed the monster that I had purported him to be, he was just a man who was misguided and whose mistakes had cost us dearly. He had not considered the long reaching consequences of his actions, but he knew he could not escape them and he did not want to._

_ "Father…," Anora appealed again, the edge of the word starting to reflect the pain she was trying to mask. _

_ Without heeding her, Loghain turned back to me, "Just make it quick. I can face the Maker, knowing that Ferelden is in your hands."_

_ Tabris also turned toward me and stated, "Alistair you should be the one to do this." _

_She gave no indication with these words whether she agreed with my decision or not, she merely allowed me to decide Loghain's fate, as a king should. I had to strike the killing blow on the man that I had condemned; she would not do it for me. At the time I had not appreciated the statement Tabris had made in this one stand. If she had stepped in, had argued for one side or the other and tried to influence the outcome, she would have undermined me in front of the Landsmeet._

_ "I will. I owe that to Duncan." I heard my shadow say this with harsh determination and I shivered slightly as I watched blow come down, hardly waiting for Anora or anyone else to stand clear. Blood splattered like the force of the blow. The spray bespattered Anora, myself, Tabris and Riordan, but I was oblivious to it, as ravenous as I was for the justice I thought I was meting out._

_ "Do you feel the same now?" the doppelganger inquired as the scene faded from view, obscured again by the swirling mist that shrouded the room._

_ I shook my head, staunchly refusing to reveal the conflict the scene stirred within, "I stand by my decision. Loghain had to die for his crimes."_

_ "You heard what Anora said: he could have died in the Joining or fighting the archdemon," countered dispassionately._

_ "What does it matter now?" I growled, "He's dead, I executed him, it ended there."_

_ "You know full well that is not true," his eyes not wavering as he gazed at me, his face neutral._

_ "Why show me this?" I asked tersely, feeling my jaw tighten and my hands gripping the sides of my arms a little tighter, as if holding back the regret I refused to acknowledge. The brand twinged ever so slightly with a dull throb against the wall my arms had created around my chest._

_ "Why ask the question?" he pointed out, "I am you. It is a scene you have replayed many times within your own mind. Why do you still dwell on this?"_

_ I spun around as the taciturn voice that I had heard only moments before in the memory addressed me directly, "Why do you not allow me to rest, son of Maric?"_

_ The rest of the shadows from the memory were gone but Loghain stood before me in his bloodied armor, however the wounds he had received at my hands were gone. The man looked tired and old, his pallor was gray. His was unarmed; his fingers outspread as he held his hands out at his sides, silently assuring me that he meant no harm. There was a deep regret in his eyes though his countenance maintained the proud look he wore every time I had ever dealt with him in person. I tried to call forth some sort of anger, but none came._

_ "I am still here. It appears you are not so easily rid of me," he stated quietly._

_ "I will not apologize for killing you!" I found my voice raging, though I felt the heat of it no longer. It had cooled in the intervening months as newer, more poignant emotions had eclipsed it._

_ "Nor would I want you to," Loghain reassured me, "you did what was necessary to unite Ferelden. You rid yourself of the greatest threat to the throne even though it was a throne you did not want. I am curious though, why did you not have Anora executed?"_

_ "I am not a monster," I stated simply._

_ "But I am. That is what you were implying, correct?" He was not angry or defensive, he was merely commenting on what he had observed._

_ I did not trust myself to answer so I continued to grip my arms in silence, maintaining the defensive stance, and wondered if I would wake up with bruises from the pressure of my fingertips. The righteous anger I had once felt and had drawn upon was gone. It seemed petty now when I looked back, but I would never admit it._

_ "When one second guesses himself, he hesitates to act," the late teyrn declared, turning slightly from me to withdraw a few steps, "I never hesitated, I made decisions and followed through. Perhaps that was the problem. If I had hesitated, if I had considered…but there is no point looking back now, is there? I went forward never questioning and I paid the price. You were just."_

_ I refused to address him, instead I turned to my doppelganger and requested, "Please, send me back. I am done here."_

_ Neither of the figures argued with me, the doppelganger wearily nodded his head and I could feel myself floating away, as if I was swimming up to break through the surface of a lake, the two of them becoming obscured by the mist as I drifted away from them._

_ "He is much like Maric, that one," Loghain mused, "even with his penchant for elves."_

_ "Be wary, Hero of the River Dane," I heard my doppelganger state with a sharp edge of warning, "I am still king in these halls and you are here at my consent."_

_ With that the shadow chuckled, "Then send me back, Fade King. Let me return from where I was borne or allow me to remain here while it amuses you, it matters not to me either way. My role is spent and I merely wait on the whim of the Maker and oblivion."_

* * *

"Why can't I dream of Svenya? It would give me some measure of peace," I lamented as I stretched my stiff muscles, "Failing that, I would take the yowling of darkspawn."

"What did you say about Mae?" Murchad asked, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

I smiled ruefully, "I just miss her. Maker, she could probably escape from a chamber without doors. Did I tell you how she saved us from the mercenaries who captured us?"

We returned to the tunnels but my mind was only half on the task at hand. My mind kept replaying scenes from my dream. I tried to distract myself with thoughts of Svenya, wondering where she was and talking to Murchad. I spent time telling him the story of how we escaped from the mercenaries with her help. I recalled the duel with Ser Grey and the way she saved the villagers from the winnowing.

"None of that surprises me," he smiled slightly, "she always tried to help other people. If she were here she would do exactly what we are doing."

"The lass sounds like my kind of gal," declared someone nearby, causing me to wheel about and glance down a tunnel to my right just as Oghren stepped out of the shadows.

Part of me cursed my distraction and apprehension for I would have felt Oghren's taint long before if not for them. What is worse, he was not alone. The Warden Howe followed close behind and I felt myself straighten stiffly.

"We've been waiting for you," Howe stated.

"I thought you had determined you were going to leave?" I inquired, willing myself to stare back and betray no emotion.

Oghren grinned, "He found darkspawn signs. That means we can help, Lad."

"But I want to speak with you first," Warden Howe added stiffly.

"Then go ahead and talk," Oghren gestured to him, not understanding what the other Warden was really saying.

Warden Howe turned to Oghren formally and instructed, "Oghren, I would like you to take the young man and bring him to our camp. Tell Sigrun to begin coordinating with him on a plan to evacuate the workers. I will take his Majesty to Voldrik, Dworkin and Warden Seok to discuss the planned distraction that should keep the Templars occupied."

"Uh…ya' sure?" Oghren never did well with subtle hints.

"Murchad, go with him," I prompted my companion, adding reassuringly, "I would trust him with my life."

Those words caused Oghren to strut, turning back down the tunnel from whence he came. Murchad moved hurriedly to follow and Oghren exclaimed, "Compared to some of the other scrapes I've seen with 'im, this will be pretty small and simple. Yup, it won't be quite like old times, but it will be passable interesting. Let me tell ya'…" He continued to speak until his voice was lost to the vast depths of the cavern.

With Oghren gone I turned to Warden Howe expectantly. He needed to speak his peace, to explain himself and if the price of his aid was that I had to stand there and listen, then so be it.

"Do you know who I am, your Majesty?" he queried.

"I know who you are because Oghren already told me." I admitted grimly.

"I see…"

"Speak your peace, Warden Howe!" I charged him, internally bracing myself for whatever unpleasantness would result.

He lifted his head slightly, providing himself a better angle with which to stare down his nose at me, I half mused that I recalled his father doing the same thing. He stated, "I understand you were among those who killed my father."

"I was in his dungeon when he died, as was Oghren and Tabris." I admitted, nodding my head, signaling for him to continue.

"Oghren refuses to talk to me regarding what happened. He said it is better if it is left alone…"

He had trailed off, suddenly seeming unsure of how to go on. After a moment I found myself completing his thought for him, "…but Arl Howe was your father and you need to know."

"Yes." The word was quiet and harsh.

"Do you know what your father did, Warden Howe?"

"I know some of what happened," he shrugged, the cold, calculating certainty was evaporating gradually, allowing me to see the man beneath the title and the name. He made a nervous gesture of rubbing the back of his neck, quietly flicking the feathers at the butt of one of the arrows in the quiver on his back, "I returned from the Free Marches and broke into Vigil's Keep. It was…nothing was what I had thought. My sister, Delilah, she filled in some of the missing details. It grieves me, the things that he did to the Couslands, to others…"

I found myself feeling a measure of compassion for the man and I tried, in my own bumbling, asinine way to be kind, "He never surrendered, if that is any comfort…"

His eyes flared and he scowled, "No, it is not. When you do not surrender from causing harm it does not make you noble," he was suddenly angry, but it was not directed at me and he demanded, "Did he make any explanation? Any excuse?"

"He said he felt he deserved more."

"More of what? More prestige? More power? Did he think that justified causing more misery?" He slammed his fist against the cavern wall and I winced even if he didn't appear to feel it, "Our family lost _everything_ and what we had was not enough for him?"

I was at a loss. I had been prepared for him to accuse me, blame me for his father's death and, as he turned to me in that moment, I got the impression that he had been expecting the same thing. This conversation was taking a turn into a direction that neither of us had foreseen.

"There is nothing that I can say. We had wanted him to answer for his crimes," I shook my head, "He attacked and we defended ourselves. In his mind, for whatever reason, he felt he was justified."

"Like Loghain?"

The question caused my stomach to lurch and images from my dream the previous night danced before my eyes. The defensiveness I had maintained in the Fade had followed me to the waking world, "That was different."

"He deserved to die," Nathaniel Howe reassured me, his voice certain now where it had once wavered, "I do not argue that. He and my father were evenly matched in their crimes, but you were the one who executed Loghain."

I found myself nodding silently, my mouth dry, the final blow replaying in my mind, the splatter of hot blood against my cheeks, marking me as the whole decision would ever mark me.

"Do you ever question your decisions?" he asked this quietly, absently, "Rumors of what had occurred at the Landsmeet filtered back to us. It was said another Warden had intervened and suggested that the teyrn undergo the Joining. It had seemed oddly logical. If you had spared him, had forced him to become a Warden, justice would have still been served."

His chosen thoughts he expressed echoed the arguments that Anora herself had made, so simple and yet so complicated.

There was a sour taste in the back of my throat. I had not killed Loghain for his crimes against Ferelden, as we had with Arl Howe. Regardless of what I claimed publicly, I had killed Loghain for leaving the Wardens, for leaving Duncan, to die. It was personal vengeance that pushed me to seek his life. If he had lived, had been forced to undergo the Joining, had faced the archdemon in Nerine's place…

I had resented the idea of Loghain being given the honor of becoming a Warden. If he had killed the archdemon, he would have been remembered as a hero instead of the villain who abandoned his king and tried to usurp the throne through his daughter. His death was justice, but it was also vengeance. Like all power, they both come with a price.

That was one of my great fears now. Ultimately that is why I allowed Eamon to make the difficult choices, the ones I was reluctant to decide. Following my hatred and my personal emotions had come at too high a price. If I had stayed my hand the outcome could have been very different. Loghain would have died a hero, but still _he_ would have died and Nerine would have _lived_. She would have become Warden Commander of Vigil's Keep and lead the order in Ferelden. Her voice, her heart, her compassion, her strength would have been more than the lingering memory that fed my regrets.

I rasped, finally admitting what I had dared not speak before, "I was wrong. I should have allowed him a chance at redemption. My hasty desire for a vengeful justice had a price that I could not fathom at the time and I was not the one who paid it. I am a man and I could not see all the possible outcomes, Maker forgive me!"

It was hard to read the look on Warden Howe's face as he offered, "I cannot fault you, your Majesty. If I had not become a Warden I would be a much different man. Perhaps it saved me from becoming my father in the end. If my father had lived, if Loghain had won, it would not have saved Ferelden and more lives would have been lost. I had thought knowing how it ended would answer these questions that haunted me." He exhaled, "It just leaves more questions that only he could have answered and he is gone."

"It is shallow comfort, Warden Howe, but I too have wrestled with these questions. I too have wrestled with self-doubt and the guilt over things I had no control over and cannot change. There are many things my own father should have answered for but he surrendered his responsibilities to other men…"

Warden Howe and I were very much alike. We both stood in the shadows of our fathers. It was a burden, for good or ill. We resented the sins and failings they left behind and the necessity that forced us to carry those burdens and make amends in their stead. This realization led me to offer, "This will not mean much to you. I do not regret your father's death or the role I played in it. However, the fact that your family was punished in his place was not fair. _You_ were not at fault."

"The punishment was just," he allowed calmly, "It had to be paid for: the treachery, the blood…"

I cut in, "It was just, but I wonder now if it was right."

"My sister is content. I have a purpose. These things are than what we had as the children of Arl Howe."

"And your brother?"

I had heard the rumors as most at the court had. Thomas Howe's death had varying accounts, whether that was due to gossip or someone trying to hide the truth. Eamon had believed it was not worthwhile to pursue the matter because of his name, but at that moment I began to question the wisdom of that assumption.

Warden Howe's jaw became tight at the mention of his brother, but he merely shrugged, his eyes remaining impassive. He asked no favors. All he had wanted was the truth regarding his father. I considered that maybe the truth shouldn't end there. Maybe someone should see to it that no other misplaced vengeance had befallen Thomas Howe. That would be equal justice and I would have no less.

I offered him my hand, "You are an honest man and a good Warden. I will be proud to stand with you, whatever happens."

A look of disbelief washed over his face as he regarded my hand. Once he inwardly reassured himself that I did not jest, he clasped my hand and returned my firm grip.

I was not what he expected and he was not what I expected. In that respect we were even.

"I still think it is a poor idea for Wardens to be involved in politics," he added, though without the accusing tone he had once used.

"Sometimes we don't have a choice," I confided, "When one considers that Blights are fought by nations, one has to be willing to wade into politics. If we had refrained from involving ourselves in politics when seeking aid during the Blight we would never have made it. Dwarven nobles scrambling to become king, Elven clan curses, preventing a Rite of Annulment from being carried out at the Circle Tower, saving an entire village from the undead – we were up to our armpits in politics." I rolled my eyes, "That being said, however, there is a warning in the life of Warden Commander Sophia Dryden. She used her position as a Warden to conduct her personal crusade against the Ferelden throne and the entire order was banished from this country as a result. It is a fine line to walk, Warden Howe."

He was thoughtful before nodding, "I think I understand."

Sensing that our conversation was at an end, Howe gestured me to follow him and I did so with a far lighter disposition. I found myself musing aloud, "I actually met Sophia Dryden."

"Really?" he replied, only half listening as I had noticed many of the nobles did when I spoke until I verbally snuck in some detail that tripped them up. I used it as a test to see who actually listened to me and who only humored me. To his credit, it happened quicker than it did with most. When what I had said fully settled in his mind he stopped suddenly, "Wait….what? How is that even possible…or do I not want to know?"

"Let me just say, Warden Howe, that it was not pretty and leave it at that," I reassured him before another thought struck me, "While we are on the subject though, is Avernus still conducting experiments at Soldier's Peak on behalf of the Grey Wardens."

"I believe so. Why?"

"When you return to Amaranthine, remind the Warden Commander to check on him periodically and ensure he is not going beyond bounds. There has to be a clear line with that one!" I stated this with deep feeling, hoping my implications would be clear enough that Howe would remember them later.

With that we continued on to meet the others and plan for the fall of Heidrunscap Mine.

* * *

_**The dialogue from the Landsmeet scene was taken directly from the game and slightly adapted to fit what I was trying to do in the story. In Dragon Age: Origins, if Alistair fights Loghain Riordan never gets the chance to speak so I took dialogue from the alternate option of having the Warden or another party member fight Loghain first. As always, that dialogue came from the brains of the writers at Bioware and I am presenting it as part of Alistair's memories, embellishing it slightly to fit his POV._


	86. Interlude 28: Eirian Silverhands

**_Interlude 28: Eirian Silverhands and Afalgwig_**

**_Folktale_**

_Once upon a time there was a girl, Eirian, who was as wise and good as she was beautiful. Her father was a miller and very poor, however, and it was a constant struggle for the small family to survive._

_Their nearest neighbor was a mage, Owyd, who lived in a tower. From his vantage point he would watch the girl and her family from a distance and everyday he would watch Eirian behind the house, sweeping and tending the yard early in the morning when her father left to chop wood in the forest. Over time a demon of desire saw the wish in his heart to make the girl his bride and began to whisper dimly to him, tempting him to act on his base longings._

_One morning, the mage could stand it no longer and he rushed from his tower to intercept her father in the forest with a plan to make the girl his own. Owyd approached the miller as the man was about to take a swing at a large elm and whistled, "Such back breaking work, you should hire a young man to do it for you!"_

_"My family is poor," the miller explained, "and we barely have enough to feed ourselves. If I do not cut the wood, we will freeze in the chill of night and have no fire over which to cook our meager porridge."_

_"Ah, then we can help each other. You have something which I need," the mage explained, consciously leaving all mention of the girl from his speech._

_Having watched the family for so long, the mage knew that behind the family's hut stood a gnarled apple tree that had not borne fruit for many years. Taking advantage of the father's naiveté, the mage explained, "I want what is standing behind your home at this moment," knowing full well that the daughter was sweeping at that time of the morning, but the father would assume he was speaking about the old apple tree._

_"What will you give me for it?" the miller asked, mildly confused but eager to make a deal that might help his family._

_"I will give you three casks of gold and I will collect what I have purchased in four days' time. Do we have a bargain?" the mage asked, putting out his hand for the miller to shake._

_The miller grabbed the man's hand eagerly and shook it. At that moment, the mage laughed, "Now the bargain is struck and if you go back on your word a horrible curse will fall on your head."_

_At these words the miller shrank back slightly, for he saw something dark in the man's eyes, but inwardly he chided himself, "It is not but a trick of the light. What harm could he do with taking the old apple tree, for that is all that stands behind my house?"_

_Unaware of what he had done, the miller went home to his wife and daughter to inform them of their good fortune, but as he approached the house Eirian came around from the back and into his view. A painful realization began to occur to the miller and he asked warily, "Have you been behind the house for the past few hours?"_

_"Of course, father," Eirian replied, "I always sweep and tend the yard in the morning and have been behind the house since around sunrise."_

_"Oh woe is me," the miller cried and wept, "I have unwittingly sacrificed your freedom for three casks of gold. What a fool I am and now I will be cursed and our family will be cursed for I cannot give up my child to a man who will use her ill." He then explained to Eirian what had happened and she wept to see her father so distressed._

_She ran behind the house, stricken, and threw herself down beneath the apple tree and wept bitterly, so bitterly that it awoke the tree from its slumber and it addressed her, "What ails you child?"_

_"My father, thinking that he was selling you, has sold me to an evil man and if he does not honor his bargain then my family will be cursed." Eirian sobbed so hard, as if her heart was fit to break._

_The tree had always been aware of the young girl's presence as the years had passed and the tree had stood faithfully in the yard. It had watched Eirian grow up and was greatly moved with pity for her, "Do not despair. If he wants what stands behind your father's house, then he shall have what stands behind your father's house, but you must listen to my instructions carefully. For three days, early in the morning, come to me and water me with your tears. On the third day, after the sun has gone to bed, have your father cut me down, strip my branches until I am but a log. Have your father then take the branches and burn them in offering to Imhar, the clever god, as sacrifice freely given and burnt offering. Once the ash has cooled and begins to blow, your father should whittle down what is left of my trunk until it is your exact length. Then have him bring the log into your home and put it in your bed. On the morning the man comes to collect you, dress me in your work gown and place me behind the house. Hide yourself nearby at the edge of the thicket and have your parents speak not a word, but indicate that he should go behind the house when he arrives, for he will be sure to come when he thinks you are tending the yard."_

_Eirian heeded the old tree and did as she was instructed, watering the tree with her tears for three days. The night of the third day the miller cut down the old apple tree, but before he did so the old tree appealed to Imhar, the clever god. She offered her life in sacrifice to protect the young Eirian from the designs of the mage. The trunk bled sap warm and red like blood when the axe struck it and as it fell, it moaned like one dying. The branches were stripped and burned, but the smoke was sweet and smelled of the fragrance of apple blossoms in spring._

_When the ash had cooled and began to blow away in the wind, the miller whittled down what was left of the trunk and sized it to Eirian's height and dragged the log into the house to place it in his daughter's bed. While the family slept a strange magic occurred and the log took the shape of a young woman as if hewn by a careful sculptor. The following morning the family was astounded, but dressed the wooden statue in the girl's clothes and placed her in the yard behind the house. The girl stole to the edge of the thicket and watched, waiting to see what would happen._

_The mage, as promised, arrived at the miller's hut shortly after sunrise and went inside with three servants following him, carrying the casks full of gold. He smiled and bowed to the couple patronizingly, saying, "I have come to collect what I have bought. Is the girl behind the house?"_

_The miller nodded reluctantly and the mage sneered, "Remember our bargain, I have come to collect the girl who stands behind the house and once I clasp her she belongs to me to do with as I will. You can do nothing to stop me or break our bargain unless you wish to be cursed."_

_With that the mage strode into the yard and, because the light was still dim with the shadows of the hut and surrounding trees, he spied what he thought was the girl. Without a thought or second look, he approached, clasped the statue around the waist and kissed the cheek. Only when his lips made contact with the rough-hewn wood did he realize that he had been tricked._

_The girl came out of her hiding spot and the miller laughed, "You have clasped her and kissed her and taken possession of her. The apple tree girl is yours. She has stood behind my house for many years, but I give her to you freely with all my heart."_

_The mage flew into a black rage and turned to the girl and her parents and swore, "If I cannot have you, then I will make it so no man will ever want you." With those words he sliced his palm and, using blood magic, called a curse down with his finger crooked at the girl._

_"You will never sew and never spin_

_For you have unraveled my plans._

_You may not be my wife,_

_But I will have your hands."_

_The thunder rolled, the lightning struck the ground and the girl fainted. Before her parents could touch her or aid her, they saw that where her hands had been there was nothing left but pale stumps._

_The mage then turned his ire onto the tree, intoning,_

_"False bride, false face,_

_Wood in human guise,_

_I will have you not_

_For you are an empty prize._

_You will find neither root nor rest,_

_Destined to be neither girl nor tree,_

_You will serve a penance_

_For your role in this injury._

_You will walk the world_

_And be forced to beg for bread_

_Thus shall it be_

_Until I am cold and dead."_

_With that, the tree came alive and walked as if it was human, but its form remained wood instead of becoming yielding flesh. The apple tree girl spoke and sighed and saw the true power of the mage's curse for she would never find rest or belonging while equally both tree and girl. The trick she had enabled to be performed had turned back and fell heavily upon her shoulders._

_The mage then stalked away, returning to his tower and leaving behind the casks of gold since the miller had kept the word of his bargain, even if it had not occurred as the mage had planned. If the mage had taken the gold back, the curse he predicted for the miller would have fallen on his own head._

_Eirian awoke and saw her hands gone, she was greatly distressed but she had very little time to grieve for her loss. She determined that if she were to stay with her parents then the mage would never leave them in peace. Gathering together a couple small personal possessions, a few loaves of bread and a small bag of coins she left her parents that night under the cover of darkness so that the mage would be unaware of the direction she went in. She was accompanied by the apple tree girl, who she named Afalgwig, and they put a veil over her face so that none would stare at her barky skin._

_For months they wandered, travelling through villages and, when what little money they had was gone, they begged for bread since that was all that they were fit for. Some were kind to the crippled girl and the strangely veiled woman, offering crusts of bread or dried fruit. Some threw rocks at them and drove them from their homes for fear they portended evil. Always the ways were weary and the roads were long with only rocks to pillow their heads in the evenings._

_One day the pair came to a swift river with an orchard on the other side. The trees looked lush and filled with fruit and Eirian was exhausted and hungry and longed for rest beneath the shade of the trees and to eat of their fruit, but the river currents were too strong. She knew that she would never be able to cross without hands to paddle and she would surely drown._

_She began to turn away in discouragement when Afalgwig took her by the arm, "You may not be able to swim, but I am wood and can float. Wrap your arms about my neck and kick in the water with all your might. I will guide us to the opposite shore. There we will find the rest and sustenance that you need."_

_Eirian did as Afalgwig bid, wrapping her thin arms around the tree girl's neck and kicked hard until they reached the opposite shore. For a time they rested on the bank and let the trees sway overhead as their clothes dried._

_It was late summer at that time, so the trees had fruit but the ripest pears were higher in the trees on branches that neither girl could reach._

_As Eirian gazed helplessly at the fruit with sad longing, Afalgwig reassured her, "Fear not, I will have the trees aid us." With that, Afalgwig began to sway, making sounds that resembled the creak and groan of the trees when they are moved by a breeze._

_In answer the trees bent and stooped slightly, reaching down their choicest fruit so that Eirian and Afalgwig could eat directly from them like starlings until they had their fill. That night they slept beneath the shelter of the trees in peace and safety._

_The orchard belonged to a king who liked to stroll beneath its boughs in the cool of the morning hours when the sun was newborn and the dew still bathed the grass. The following morning the king spied the strange pair sleeping beneath the branches. He quietly went away and called for the gardener, "Who are these ladies who are sheltering here? One resembles a lovely marble statue without hands and the other is swarthy and veiled."_

_"I do not know, your Majesty. They must have crossed the river at dusk when the workers had gone to dinner and rest."_

_"Keep watch over them, but do not reveal yourself to them. Send the other workers to prune and tend the trees in another section of the orchard. Report to me at the end of the day what occurs and I will greatly reward your diligence," the King instructed and returned to his duties._

_The whole day the gardener watched over the pair. When they awoke late in the morning Afalgwig again spoke to the trees in their own language and the trees offered the choicest fruit on outstretched boughs. The gardener was near agog when he reported what he had seen to the King, "The dark woman is able to speak to the trees and, by some magic, and the trees obey her and stretch down their boughs so that the crippled lady can eat directly from the branches. I have seen it twice and wonder if the dark woman is a demon or an elf who can commune directly with the plants."_

_The King nodded, fascinated, and wished to know more of these two women but he worried that he would frighten them if he revealed himself completely. That evening he dressed in peasant clothes and crept to the orchard where the women had been staying. He observed for himself Afalgwig speaking to the trees and the trees obeying her and then the women ate their fill._

_Just as the pair settled upon the soft turf for the night, the King came forward from behind a tree and addressed them, "Do not be afraid. I mean you no harm. I am a gardener of this orchard. I have watched you and wish to know by what power you have managed to cause the trees to obey you."_

_"Please look on us with kindness," Eirian pleaded, "We have travelled for so long with little opportunity for rest. This orchard provided for us in our sorest need. With my ailment I am unable to sew or spin for my bread and have been reduced to begging. My friend's peculiar appearance frightens others and at times people will drive us away from their homes in fear. We were cursed by blood magic and have wandered ever since."_

_With this the King sat on the ground and coaxed Eirian to tell her story. He had kind eyes and a gentle smile, so Eirian grew to trust him. She spoke until the shadows lengthened and the moon rose. Afalgwig stood apart, nervous but unwilling to leave her friend alone with a stranger and she would nod agreement occasionally._

_When her tale had been completed, the King was moved with pity for the pair, "I will find you berths within the palace. It will allow you food to eat and a room in which to sleep. You may work in the orchard and care for the trees."_

_The two girls were startled and inquired, "Will not the King object to you hiring us in his stead?"_

_"I have the King's ear and he is kind," the disguised monarch reassured the girls, "he trusts my judgment and permits me to make such decisions. Come with me."_

_The King then led them to a small cottage at the edge of the orchard that had long been empty and offered them the usage of the rooms within. He bid them goodnight and good rest until the following day. When he left their presence he summoned his orchard staff, apprised them of the situation and made it clear that they were to be kind to the ladies and allow them to work as they were able._

_In the mornings the pair would work in the orchard, tending to the trees along with the other staff and in the evenings they would eat their fill. It filled their hearts with joy to be of some use and to know that they would not be driven off for their appearances. Over time they became contented with their positions and the little cottage was filled with warmth and laughter._

_The king continued to visit them in the guise of a gardener in the evenings at the cottage, enjoying their company and their lively grace. He would tell them stories and bring small, simple gifts to amuse them. He began to teach Eirian and Afalgwig how to read, providing them with books, paper and quills._

_When the winter came and the gardening staff stayed indoors, going out sparingly into the wintry landscape, Eirian and Afalgwig stayed within their little orchard cottage, kept company by a cheery fire in the chimney grate and the various tomes that the king would bring to them. They entertained themselves with tales and poetry on many nights._

_During that time, the king began consulting mages on the pair's behalf, seeking a way to break the curse that had been laid upon them, but none could seem to help. He sent knights to appeal to the mage, Owyd, but he had disappeared from his tower and his whereabouts was unknown. Eventually, the king commissioned delicate silver hands to be crafted by a skilled dwarf smith and enchanted by the palace mage to take the place of Eirian's true hands and have some of her independence restored to her._

_The work was completed during the wee seeds of spring and on the night he came to bestow this gift on Eirian, the king came upon the cottage at the beginning of the gloaming hour. The windows were open and the fresh breezes of the soft spring weather came through the branches heavy laden with white blossoms. The scent of new life perfumed the air and the girls in the cottage were singing joyously at the prospect of the coming warmth of rosy days. The king felt his heart swell within his chest with an emotion that he had so long unrecognized and crept upon him unaware._

_He discovered that he had fallen in love with Eirian._

_That night he knelt before her, putting aside his disguise and begged her forgiveness for deceiving her. He requested her hand in marriage and Eirian, surprised by the depth of her own feeling for the gardener king, accepted with her whole heart. Before the blossoms had fallen from the trees at the end of the spring, Eirian and the king were married and she was crowned as queen of the realm._

_Owyd, though he had disappeared from his tower, had found a way to discover Eirian and Afalgwig's hiding place. When he discovered Eirian's impending marriage to the king, his deep ire burned again into a blazing fury and he swore an even darker vengeance on the handless lass and the apple tree girl._

_A year passed and wars beyond the border of the kingdom beckoned the king as his allies requested his aid. He had to meet his diplomatic obligations, but he did so reluctantly because Eirian was great with child. In his absence he left his most trusted advisor in charge to oversee the needs of the kingdom and to aid the queen._

_Within a month of the king's departure, the queen gave birth to a healthy son. Missives were sent by the advisor and Eirian to the king. Owyd, however, became aware of the news. Through his power he waylaid the messenger on the road, caused the man to become sleepy and take shelter beneath a tree. Owyd took the missives and replaced them with a single missive, a forgery of the advisor's writing. In the false missive the king is informed that his wife gave birth to a monster because of a horrible curse brought on by the blatant use of blood magic. The messenger was then awoken and sent on his way to deliver the poisonous missive._

_The king, on receiving the letter, was suspicious and thought that there might be some mistake. He sent a reply commanding the advisor to care for both Eirian and the infant, promising to try and find a way to break whatever spell had befallen them. He also sent a letter to his wife, encouraging her to be strong and to care for their child, promising to return as soon as arrangements could be made._

_The messenger sent this time was also waylaid by Owyd. Again, Owyd replaced the missives with a single missive, commanding that the child should be destroyed as the spawn of a demon, accusing the queen of infidelity and commanding that she too be executed for treasonous behavior. The messenger, on waking, returned to the advisor and delivered the missive._

_The advisor was grieved by what he read and immediately sent another missive, worried that perhaps there had been some mistake or miscommunication and begging the king to clarify his commands. Owyd again waylaid the missive to the king and replaced it with a forgery. Again, the false missive insisted that the baby was a monster and a curse on the kingdom._

_When the king replied, another forgery took his missive's place; this one insisted that both the baby and the queen had to be executed. The advisor was upset but he was frightened what would happen to him if he refused to heed the king's command. He was also filled with grave pity for the good queen and her child._

_In the night the advisor went to her chambers and showed her the missives, "I dare not defy my king, but I cannot follow this order in good conscience. Take your son and escape now into the forest. The king must not find you here when he returns. Here is a pouch of coins to help provide for your welfare on your journey. May the Maker protect you!"_

_Eirian was certain there had been some mistake, but fear for her child's life drove her to bundle him up and place him in a sling around her neck to keep him secure._

_Afalgwig, who had become her lady-in-waiting, insisted on accompanying Eirian and the child._

_"There is no need. You are not the one banished." Eirian tried to argue with her companion._

_"I am doomed to neither belong as human nor tree in this world, but I believe that I belong with you for my entire being is tied to your welfare. With you, I have purpose. Either allow me to accompany you or I will follow you at a distance," the apple tree girl insisted._

_Seeing that Afalgwig could not be dissuaded, Eirian relented. They left under the cover of darkness with some clothing and a few necessary items that they could easily carry without becoming over encumbered. Walking for days, until they were near spent with exhaustion, they finally left the borders of the kingdom behind them._

_When the king returned, the advisor met him at the gates and informed him that he had executed the queen and her child as he had been bid. The king was grief stricken and enraged, but the advisor showed him the missives that he had received that appeared to be in the king's own hand. On seeing the king's pain, the advisor admitted that he had lied and sent the queen away with the child, accompanied by Afalgwig._

_Losing no time, the king gathered supplies and went out in search of his wife and child._

_As the months passed, Eirian and Afalgwig despaired ever finding a safe place for them to stay with the baby. They were driven out of most villages based on their beleaguered appearances and on Afalgwig's mysteriously veiled visage. Some people would periodically take pity on them and give them a crust of bread or a bowl of soup, but did not invite them to stay for long._

_One day, after almost a year of wandering, they came to a beautiful mansion by a crystalline lake at the edge of a dense forest. Near ready to collapse, they knocked upon the door to beg for bread. A lovely woman came to the door, she was all in white and not just her clothes, her skin was porcelain pale and her blond hair was so fair that it was near white as well. She smiled warmly and greeted them, "Welcome travelers. A place has been prepared for you here. We have food and clean water. There are soft beds and couches on which to rest yourselves. You may stay for as long as you like and you will be safe."_

_The two women were greatly relieved and allowed themselves to be lead within the mansion. There they stayed for three years._

_The king continued to search for his wife and child, until one day he too came across the mansion where Eirian, Afalgwig and the child sheltered. The pale hostess that had cared for them greeted the king at the door and invited him inside, having him stay in a receiving room where he fell asleep upon a couch. The hostess sent for Eirian and Afalgwig, informing them that the king was there._

_Eirian entered the room with her son, whom she named Tristan. The king was reclining on a chair with a handkerchief over his face, enabling him to shield his eyes to sleep better. With a sudden snort and a snore, the handkerchief was blown off and Eirian beheld the handsome face of her husband and the breath caught in her throat with a gasp._

_"Who is this man, Mama?" asked Tristan, confused._

_"That is your father, dear one," Eirian answered, pushing the boy forward, "Now go put the handkerchief across his face so that he can continue to sleep in peace."_

_The king, who had only been lightly dozing, had awakened enough to hear this exchange, but kept his eyes closed so that he could hear more. Shortly after the little boy replaced the handkerchief, the king promptly blew it off again with another puff of air from his lips and the handkerchief fluttered again to the floor._

_Again, Eirian bid the child to replace the handkerchief. This continued three more times until the king could not help but chuckle and opened his eyes to behold his wife and son. His eyes filled with tears and he got up from the couch to embrace them close._

_Afalgwig and the hostess entered the room and greeted the newly united family. The king greeted the apple tree girl warmly and embraced her as well. It was a joyous reunion._

_"Come, let us return to our home," the king insisted, but the hostess raised her hand and caused him to pause._

_"If Eirian and Afalgwig were to leave this house, their lives would be in grave danger. The mage, Owyd, has not lived in peace these waning years. While my power here has enabled me to protect them from his machinations and interference, but beyond these doors I cannot nullify the curse that this mortal curse Owyd has placed upon him. If you wish to be free of this mage's evil, he must be destroyed. The curse will only remain as long as he is alive." The hostess explained this to the king._

_The hostess bestowed a magical shield upon the king and gave him a map to reach Owyd's fortress. Kissing his wife and child farewell, the king departed the mansion in order to remove the threat upon his wife and their loyal friend. He travelled for a fortnight until he reached the outskirts of the land under the mage's influence._

_He approached the fortress cautiously and made his way through the empty, shadowy halls. At the top of the tallest parapet he found the abomination, for that is what Owyd had become in the intervening years that the demon had slowly eaten away at him until none of his humanity remained._

_"If I cannot have her, then no man will have her!" the abomination screeched, throwing himself at the king._

_After an arduous battle, the king slew the abomination and it dissipated in a puff of smoke._

_He returned to Eirian and Afalgwig at the mansion, only to discover that Afalgwig had been transformed into a true woman, revealing that the curse had been truly broken with the destruction of the demon. They all returned together to the king's home and lived happily until the Maker took them._

* * *

**_This story is an adaption of a story that Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm included in __Kinder- und Hausmärchen__called _The Girl Without Hands. _I had always liked the story, but there were certain things about it that bothered me. I gave it the Thedas treatment here._**


	87. Chapter 58: Snared by Folly

**Chapter 58: Snared by Folly**

_**Svenya / Mae**_

The road was wearying and I was thirsty, but I desperately needed to keep moving. Eventually, unsure if I were making progress or merely going in circles, I found a tree with enough leaves for cover and a few low branches that I could reach from the ground, pull myself up and scramble onto. I curled into the crook where the trunk forked into two large limbs, wedged snuggly against the rough bark that I could feel through the thick cloak I gripped to stave off the shivers.

The limbs groaned a soft lullaby in the night breeze and the rustling leaves whispered soothingly. My exhaustion fed the sleep that should have never arrived, as worried and uncomfortable as I was in the embrace of the branches. My eyes drooped, replacing the night shadows with shadows of another kind.

_"Hello, sweet morsel," the large wolf grinned as I became aware in the confines of the Fade._

_ Though he was familiar to me since the service he had provided before, I was reasonably uneasy and wary of his leer, "Am I to run from you?" I asked this while preparing to bolt at the slightest indication._

_ He laughed that billowing sound, part jocularity and part insult, "You are no meal for me, little one. There are other things abroad which I have had the pleasure to hunt. There have been wonders and entertainment in these unusual times."_

_ "Forgive my bluntness, but I was unsure of what to think since you called me `morsel'." I explained, still on my guard._

_ He grinned wider at that, and the voice chided, "I called you `morsel' but I didn't call you `meal'. For the time being I am sated, fear not."_

_ "You say `fear not' to a mortal who has been attacked by wolves," I shook my head in disbelief at his cavalier attitude, "though you may not be one of those beasts of the waking world, you look to be their kin."_

_ "What I appear to be and what I am are two different sides of the coin, sweet morsel," he argued before allowing, "but you are wise in your wariness. I can find no fault with that. These are dangerous venues, particularly for one stalked on both sides of the Veil."_

_ "Are you referring to the patchwork woman?" I inquired, finding myself curious about the being that had attacked me previously when I attempted to fetch my mother._

_ "No," he answered, his maw sneering with distaste, "She was a construct. No better than a pile of glorified sawdust, a tattered doll, a discarded toy, a trick of rude stitching and desire."_

_ "Did you eat her?"_

_ "Of course not," the Fade wolf scoffed, "She would have been far less sufficient for my appetites than you. I sent her on her way once you were safely gone. There was no benefit in harming her when there is better sport to be had. Her former master, her maker, is far more interesting."_

_ "Who is he?" I pressed, unable to rein back my curiosity as this new information was presented, "Why was she made to look like me?"_

_ "Now the roots grasp for substance to keep the tree from toppling," the wolf crooned, sounding pleased with the question, "hence why I have been engaged in shadowing your shade. A figure of benevolence has bartered with me to keep you safe from a threat. What started as a nuisance has gained substance, gorging himself on what he scavenges. The wisp of a whisper is preparing to roar. I would probably have followed you for less than what she offered me, for this is an intriguing scene of folly, but a deal was struck and I fair quite well for it. It might be my undoing, however. This being has feasted enough to now be formidable. What once seemed to be a pleasantly tipped scale now skews in another direction."_

_ "Could you be released from your bargain?" I was unsure if I felt sorry for the enigmatic wolf._

_ "A word has more substance here," the spirit being explained, "A vow is sharp and can turn and cut the speaker as easily as the intended target. Mortals have made words flimsy and false in the waking world so when they enter the Fade they often carelessly injure themselves by an ill-spoken phrase. We denizens of the Fade know to take full advantage of such ignorance when it is a boon to us. We do not lie, though we do not necessarily speak all truth."_

_ "Then how can I trust you?" These disclosures were continuing to add to my unease._

_ "You don't!" he growled, irritated by my gadfly questions, "Never trust us. Even those with good intentions will cause harm. They do not wish to, but it is in our nature since there are only absolutes with us. I wish you neither good nor ill, but I will turn on you on a whim. It is the swing of the pendulum. It behooves me now to be benign for it is a diversion, but I will not be cloyed. I am not toothless, morsel, and you would hardly be chewed before you would be no more. Speak not of trust!"_

_ "Fine, I hear your words and submit to your council," I put my hands up, palms out, "It corresponds with what I already know to be true."_

_ "Wise girl," the wolf snipped before stretching his bulk upon the ground, crossing his paws before him in a posture that implied carelessness, but his eyes remained alert and glittered green. He cocked his head in my direction, waiting for me to speak further._

_ "You said I was being stalked on both sides of the Veil. The…spirit…that is stalking me in the Fade…you imply he is powerful but you haven't told me what _it_ is…" I left off, hoping the beast would elaborate._

_ He sighed, "He is mostly a demon."_

_ "Mostly?"_

_ "He has reached beyond the usual delineations of his kind. What I could glean, he wishes to be flesh like most of his kind wishes it, but at some point he was tampered with and tempered. His motivations are not _entirely_ self-seeking. He worships and desires. He seeks communion, but also consummation," he explained with halting phrases, as if he was unsure of how to make it coherent in the frame of my mortality._

_ "Does he want to possess me, then?"_

_ "He wants possession, but not necessarily to possess you. He wants you not as a demon desires to control but as a man desires. However, not being a man, he cannot have you in the way he desires. With the Veil thinning, perhaps he seeks to cross over so he can claim you as he believes a mortal would. His reasoning is warped by what he wills, but the outcome is the same. He wishes to make purchase in the mortal realm."_

_ "You were sent to protect me from this…being?"_

_ "I was sent to uphold the rules, though the rules mean nothing to me. I am not bound by these same borders. The lines are not impassable to me, but mortals are no longer a curiosity…at least, not until recently. The Lady begged my favor to maintain balance before ripples threaten that which she holds dear. She is soft in that regard, investing in such fragile, flawed things," he huffed, "As long as she honors the contract, I care not for her motives."_

_ It was my turn to cock my head, "What did she promise you?"_

_ "That concerns you not, little morsel," he chided, his eyes slitting in mild, measured warning._

_ "How do you know of what stalks me in the waking world if you are in the Fade?" I changed the subject, not willing to test the extent of my host's patience._

_ "As I have revealed, the boundaries of the Fade do not hold me. I have wandered to and fro for longer than you can ken. I have freedoms many of the Fade spirits envy. To me, it is all much the same. You all struggle like injured animals in a trap. It brings me no amusement."_

_ My brow furrowed, "If you travel into the waking realm regularly, how is it that there is no one who speaks of you? People would notice, I should think."_

_ "You, _you _should think. However many of _your_ kind are too preoccupied with these lesser brethren wreaking havoc that no one takes note of me in my subtlety," then he shook his head, "Pardon, I err. The Dalish have long been aware of my comings and goings, harboring a healthy fear for my…capacities."_

_ The realization of what he was saying struck me like a blow to the gut as I recalled some of the tales of the Elvehenen that I had read in a book. I squeaked, "You are Fen'Harel!"_

_ The toothy grin in response was further unnerving as he nodded his head in mock salute, "You are not as dense as most humans. Full marks! Many of your blunt eared brethren are oblivious of the old tales of the Wandering People. Yes, I am the Trickster, though even the Dalish have forgotten some of the more flattering details of my existence, along with much of their own identities. Perhaps some things are better forgotten, do you not agree?"_

_ "No," I insisted vehemently, forgetting who I was talking to for a fragment of a moment, "Forgetting allows one to repeat foolish mistakes of the past."_

_ He panted happily, "Yes, I have decided that I like you. Perhaps that is your power. You draw admiration from a variety of interesting sources. Let me see: a mortal-longing Fade spirit, a red-crowned knight, an ersatz Fade warrior, the Fade tainted Armored Man, a bumbling boar…so many admirers. With equal vehemence you draw ire as well, mainly from your own kin. Such petty knaves! I like your brother, though, more fox than wolf that one! Unlike me, who can see all sides, he thinks he knows more than he does. He is awake and seeking you along with the Armored Man. Poor pawns!"_

_ "Someone else is using them?"_

_ "Now to reveal all would remove the sting of the bee. You wish to be schooled? Learn by living and importune me no more with your questions. I will be safely by and intervene if I see fit, but do not rely on my sense of fitness to match your own."_

With that I jolted awake, nearly falling out of the tree with the violence of my waking. My shaking caused the leaves to tremble on the branches. I gasped and grabbed at a limb to steady myself. Even in the biting morning chill I perspired. My heart thudded in my chest so loudly that I feared any and all could hear it.

"Damn," I growled in my grogginess, "I know not what is worse, my pursuers or my protector. The Dalish did not lie about Fen'Harel."

There was the chattering laugh of a magpie, sounding amused at the queer bird sharing his tree. He flapped his blue-black robes, ruffled his white jerkin and cocked his head, considering his guest.

"Do you dream, Feathered Fool?" I queried sarcastically, "Or are you spared such diversions in the realm beyond? I have always envied your wings. You have the potential to escape your enemies with ease and fly beyond the distant horizon. I cannot even escape in the oblivion of sleep, it seems."

_"Not if they are nested," _I recalled the memory of Bruna saying, _"They will not abandon their young. They also remain faithful to each other. If only men were as constant as magpies."_

"You wear motley like a fool," I observed as the bold bird left his perch to roost on my knee and I acknowledged, "Ha…bold fool! Here you preen and I could be an enemy and wish you harm. Is it that you are unaware or are you so certain that I will not try to pluck your tail?"

The bird again ruffled his feathers before lifting off into the air, seeking his breakfast in the frosted morning.

"If only men heeded the wisdom of fools. If only men saw the benefit of constancy and honor rather than the desire to grub for more. They root so long in the ground when the sky could be more than enough for anyone."

I carefully picked my way down from my perch and I was chagrinned to realize that I had slept far later than I should have. The sun had begun to crown at the edge of the cliffs of the surrounding mountains, causing the shadows to stretch off their complacency and flee before it. Shielding my eyes, I gaged that it had to be mid-morning but the basin of the ravines where I wandered had prevented the light from fully reaching me until late.

I felt disoriented, but not so much that I forgot the wisdom Bruna had taught me. Peeking around the tree, I found the heavier mossing indicating the south side of the tree. I quickly consulted the map that I had purloined from the arl's study and headed in the direction likely to lead to the ravine passage.

Unable to fly, I trudged in the dim light, glancing at the map periodically to ensure that I remained on course to exit the Cauldron, leaving the dangerously boiling politics behind me that my brother had carefully stirred up.

Ronan had never seemed dangerous to me, for I had always been more concerned with Fendril's open brutality and free use of force. Now I understood, it was not the club that one should worry over, one should be mindful of the hand that wields it. The fox had turned the most dangerous men in the Cauldron into his tools with a well-placed suggestion and nudging phrases.

"_How should I counter him?"_ I found myself muttering aloud, _"If caught he could claim ignorance. He has not dirtied his own paws with his machinations. Who can tie him down when he ducks into the bramble thicket? Of all the missives I saw, none make mention of him. None are framed with his slanted script. They are all sealed with the boar's crest. Not even my own father, the indomitable Arl Crewe, or Arl Boese know of Ronan's collusion with Ser Manning. The brutish Templar is probably being played false by my dear brother as well. Blinded by greed or a false sense of superiority, the lot of them! They are practically tearing down the mountains, stone by stone, to build a dais for their ambitions."_

The sound of hooves broke me from my tirade and I found cover amid the trees and boulders just off the settled path. I gripped my knees to my chest and held still as the clopping became louder before awkwardly coming to a halt a short distance away. Not daring to try and visually spy the riders, I instead strained my ears to hear if some conference would pass and I was not disappointed.

"_You!"_ the sour, enraged tones of my betrothed accused, "You said that my bride was secured. You said that there was no chance she could escape from the _accommodations_ that you had prepared for her, yet here I am, taking to horse, to scour the countryside in search of the bird you had caged!"

"Peace, Manning," my brother wheedled, sounding confident and secure, causing me to wonder what it cost him to remain so unruffled or if he honestly believed what he spoke, "Is it not more sporting to hunt the wren than to have it brought on a platter? This may not be how I devised, but the bracing air will do us both wonders and the chase offers a light diversion. You have seemed tense as of late…"

"If I am tense, it is because all you have promised has not been met by what you have laid before me, Arlson. I will not be made a fool! I am the hand of righteousness! I will not shirk my duty, as you seem intent upon doing," the snarled words answered my brother's light response.

I could hear my brother tutting before he continued, "Does it not say in holy writ that patience is a virtue? Would we value the Maker's bounty if we did nothing to pursue His will? Such haste and desire for instant gratification is unworthy of a man so controlled and disciplined. Fear not, dear Manning, the prize will be worth the effort." The words dripped with condescension and I vaguely wondered if the Templar caught it.

"Arlson, you have no idea how much my control is slipping, do not tempt me."

"Actually, I have a better idea than you realize, dear Manning," came the measured reply before the sound of the horse taking off at a gallop met my relieved ears.

They had not found me and continued to ride ahead, but their appearance brought to mind a new dilemma: my brother had guessed at my intended destination. The two of them would be on the road ahead and depending on the arrangement of the pass they would be waiting for me to come through. _How could I sneak past them?_

I remained safely off the road as I continued to travel. If I needed to stop to rest I climbed into an obliging tree that allowed me a good view of the byway. There was more danger and more chance of being caught, so I needed to have my wits about me and remain alert.

The day dragged on and my tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth. I bemoaned the fact that I had no water skin. It caused me to tire faster than if I had been well equipped for the journey.

At the wane of the day I came upon a gurgling trickle of a stream issuing from a crevice in a rock wall and emptied into a brackish puddle. My tongue felt swollen and I had to wet it or felt I would die. My thirst outweighed the warned cautions that jigged between my ears from all the times Bruna instructed me on our sojourns in the forest.

As I lifted a handful of the water to my lips and sipped it, there was a prickling and tingling in my mouth. The cold water suddenly burned in a way that water from a mountain spring should not and I spit it out, but the damage was done. One mouthful was too much and the stuff should have never touched my lips to begin with.

My sight became watery, as if I were looking at heat rising from a griddle over the fire. The world reeled and I could not remain on my feet. I could feel tears on my cheeks as I began to jibber and giggle, unable to control the waves of emotions as they crashed relentlessly within. Looking about me, astonished, I could see undulations in the air. It was like the undulations that sheets make when pinned upon a clothesline and left to be wafted by the breeze. These sheets of air were like sheer, blue glowing silk and behind them, between their dancing and swaying, I thought I saw eyes, toothy smiles and above it all was a queer humming that made my back teeth numb.

Then, it was as if sleep had overtaken me and I had passed into the Fade, but I was without control. There were dancers swirling about me. There were people in masks and they pointed, laughing silently, their faces contorting in cruel sneers. Behind the dancers, milling about in the shadows, monstrous forms swayed as if they heard some kind of silent music that was out of time with the dancers. I could feel the burning that had once been in my mouth running over my face, needling the old scars that had become a part of my fabric. When I finally discerned music faint but distinct, it was overpowered by other disjointed sounds that blared and blew through me, like the braying of hunting horns and the yelping of mabaris. There was the stench of seared flesh, dirt and decaying leaves that overcame me and seemed to seep into every space of my being and clung like pitch.

When the onslaught of sensations abated and I began to make sense once again and the world ceased to be rippled by the undulating blue fabric all around me, I saw a man in armor. On the metal was the reflection of dancing flames and his face was hard and cold, though the gleaming in his eyes implied that something smoldered within, consuming him.

He abruptly lifted me up from the ground and my head lolled to the side, unable to remain upright. His touch both froze and burned where it made contact with me and I tried to shriek but my voice had abandoned me amid the chaos of the world upturned. All I could manage was a sound akin to that of the magpie's cry I had heard that morning.

He lifted me into his arms, his gauntlets bruising where he gripped as he promised in a voice that was simultaneously harsh and tender, "Never again, Lady. You are mine and you will not be free again. It has been ordained by the hand of the Maker. In three days, we will be wed and by my hand you shall be purified."

Even as I hallucinated, I realized that I was being held by Manning and my escape had been for naught, for I had been snared by my own folly and tainted water.


	88. Chapter 59: Only in the Darkness

**Chapter 59: Only In the Darkness**

_Bruna_

_**"Dealing with the unknown is like walking in a dark place with a lantern held aloft, edging forward with faltering steps and peering blindly into the murk. When it is a path you have walked before, the darkness is irrelevant. Only in the darkness of the unknown can you truly understand how small you are…"**_

The air in the tunnels was oppressive and had an underlying odor that rivaled the arl's garderobe. It was not just the mustiness either. With the stream rushing through, one would assume it would clear the reeking smell, but the stench would not be alleviated. Having lived in such a way that I attended to the sick and also dealt with the potential of decaying food, I am not one easily put off by unpleasant odors, but the air was close to making me reel and my head ached. Even over time the constant bombardment did not entirely numb my nose to its presence and it continued to cloy me.

Morrigan noticed the wrinkling of my nose at one point and observed dispassionately, "It is the smell of darkspawn. This is not nearly as bad as the Deep Roads, but they have definitely been here and it mayhap be worse the further in we venture."

The scouts accompanying us were visibly uneasy and followed with reluctance etched on their faces. Even I recalled the old tales of the monsters that would periodically erupt from the deep places through forgotten or disused caverns, so dark that they mocked the daylight with their ill-made visages. Young children were often chided in the villages to forgo venturing into darkened caves for fear of being snatched. As men, these Avvars still possessed a healthy wariness of such cautions.

Letha walked ahead of us, guiding us as her lucidity allowed. She vacillated between single-minded haste while we would near scramble to keep up only to be delayed by her crumbling purpose when her lyrium-born insecurity and confusion would cause her pause. We would mill about in the dim torchlight, a feared to stray beyond the circles of light, waiting for Letha to regain herself.

The further we travelled the stops became briefer but more frequent. These stops had little to do with confusion since her movements were trembling tinged as she tried to withstand the terror she had been burying within. What she had escaped from still dwelt in the caves. Her lapses of memory protected her from the crippling horror of the darkness, but with our venturing we were re-awakening them within her.

At roughly two days trudge into the tunnels, Letha stopped at a fork. The stream had gained force and resembled a river in its size and power as it issued from the left tunnel. The tunnel to our right had a far more evil air emanating from it than what we had been choking on up to that point. There was little space with which to walk down the river tunnel, though it was manageable if we walked single file along the rocky outcroppings.

For a moment Letha went rigid and wide eyed, starting to back away from the left tunnel. I felt myself tense, prepared to catch her if she bolted. This journey was taking a mental and emotional toll on the girl and I feared that the strain would tear something within her, doing damage far too extensive to heal and yet we had no other alternative other than to prod her forward.

With the loss of the light I had begun to measure time by the apples I carried in my pack. As a cook I knew the changes in fruit as it began to wane and decay, particularly aware of how long these changes took. The taut flesh of the apples had begun to grow soft and yielding. By the time the apples could be mashed without effort in a closed fist and prickled to the taste we had to be ready to offer aid to Grey from within the Templar encampment, weakening the defenses. I feared what would happen to the Avvar forces without if we did not arrive in time to our necessary destination as we were unable to reliably send word to Grey to apprise him of our situation.

As if unwilling to go any further, Letha began to shake her head and back away. Morrigan had stepped forward, making her way around me so quietly that I had taken no notice of her until she was there. Sidling up to Letha, she gently took her hand and spoke soft words that I could not decipher from where I stood. In the dimness, Morrigan's face was inscrutable, but it somehow calmed Letha. Her posture softened and she began to nod, inclining herself more towards Morrigan before leaning her head upon the dark woman's shoulder. In response, Morrigan stiffened slightly, probably unaccustomed to such contact, but then placed a hand on the small of Letha's back in a simultaneously gentle and awkward gesture of comfort.

When Letha appeared to be sufficiently mollified, Morrigan beckoned the men behind us. Keeping firm hold of Letha's hand, Morrigan crept forward, edging onto the narrow ledge just above the river. Her other hand held her staff, reaching it out and pointing it into the darkness. With a few muttered words the tip of it began to glow like a beacon in the darkness, providing a better view of what lay ahead.

We travelled along the narrow path for an extensive amount of time, trying to maintain our footing so that none of us fell into the roiling and rushing water close to our feet. Eventually the path widened and led into a larger cavern, like a grand indentation into the tunnel wall, providing a bank for us to camp upon. The river made the stone damp and we huddled to keep warm, though Morrigan pointedly disengaged herself from the rest of us and squatted in the far corner of the cavern. I bundled Letha as best as I could to prevent her bone thin frame from rattling with cold and brewed tea in my battered pot to ease her into sleep.

After Letha drifted off, I approached Morrigan where she sat and found a perch near her but not too close so that she would not feel crowded, "Thank you for calming Letha. For a moment I was afraid she would bolt."

"As was I," she spat back, shrugging off my thanks, "The gratitude is unnecessary. I needed her to continue forward the same as you."

"Of course," I allowed, keeping my tone neutral.

Morrigan glared at me out of the corner of her eye, "Do not give me that look. You are all a means to an end. When I have what I require I will depart from you."

"What is it that you require, by the way? You have yet to tell me," I asked, crossing my arms in front of me to stave off some of the cold that was creeping into my limbs from the damp air.

"It need not concern you so," she huffed, settling farther back onto her haunches as if she were a donkey preparing to be jerked by its halter. Her stubborn posturing indicated that she would not be prodded by me to betray anything of her plans.

I placatingly held up my hands, "You need not be cross, I was merely curious is all. Normally you are not this short with me."

She harrumphed with that observation and stated, "I need not play sweet with you. You see through me, I know. There is no point in trying to maintain pretenses of pleasantry between us. You do not have to like me and I do not have to like you; neither you nor I will be manipulated."

"Is that what you think I am trying to do…manipulate you?" in her petulance she was revealing more than I had expected.

"Do not play simpleton with me, _Mountain Mother," _the address she used was tinged with quiet venom, "You are no fool and neither am I. You have made it quite clear that you disapprove of my seeking after old relics that I might utilize against Flemeth. There is no need for denials. It is wasted breath. I know your measure!"

I shook my head sadly, "You may not know as much as you would like to think, neither about me nor what you could be attempting to harness."

She snorted, "I know all I require, spare me the lecture."

"I feel sorry for you Morrigan," I leveled with her, quite agreeing that the dancing we had been attempting around one another was pointless, "You may think you have my measure, but I truly know yours. When I look at you I see a young woman who is so accustomed to being used that she knows no other way and cannot conceive kindness. Is that all you think you were meant for: to be used and cast away? Is that what you assume people are only considering when they approach you?"

She turned from me, offering me only her back. If she had been in the woods she might have escaped, taken off into the shadows to resist the words I spoke, but here she was trapped by the rock walls of the tunnels and her own walls within herself. Morrigan was lost in a labyrinth that she had fashioned as surely as she was lost in these tunnels that she had entered into willingly, thinking she could navigate herself and everyone else.

"Has there been no one who refused to merely take from you?" I asked, feeling overwhelming pity for the wounded creature before me.

"You know nothing of me…" she suddenly jumped to her feet and spun around to face me. Her eyes stared down her nose disdainfully at me and her lips curled into a sneer. Unwittingly, however, she backed into the cavern wall, using it to steady herself.

"Ah, someone has cared for you then…" I observed softly, realizing that I had prodded a wound she had been concealing, "What happened to them?"

"I know not what you could be speaking of," she feigned ignorance, trying to regain her former indifference like a broken shield that was destined to crack in twain with another blow.

"You must have cared about them too, though you are trying to forget that they mattered…and that you mattered to them…"

"Leave me alone," she finally ground out, aiming her staff at me in obvious warning, her slitted eyes containing a cold menace, communicating that I had pushed too far.

Cornering a wounded animal is never wise, particularly one near feral with desperation that had nothing left to lose. She was surrounded by an aura that kept building in intensity until it threatened to rival the firelight with its glow. Whether she was aware of it or not, she was calling magic to her, unconsciously preparing to strike back at something she perceived to be a threat: _me_.

For the second time that day, I was prevented from responding as a voice interrupted us, "_Peace!_ The darkness here is not so great that we must fight amongst ourselves."

Letha approached, seeming unaffected by the tea she had taken earlier. Her eyes were bright and her countenance serene as she purposely placed herself between Morrigan and I. Opposed to her usual trembling and shyness, she seemed very strong and sure. The previously angry mage woman now looked confused and cowed for having so nearly lost all her composure in the face of my scrutiny. She drew back her staff, leaning it against the cradle of her shoulder and crossing her arms over it.

"We must rest now," Letha stated. Seeming satisfied that the conflict was over she withdrew to her blankets while we watched, more than a little stunned. Within moments she was cocooned in her blankets and breathing evenly, overcome with slumber.

When we were again alone, save for the scouts who huddled around the fire, having wisely agreed amongst themselves to leave us to our quarrel, Morrigan gazed at me a long moment and stating, "I am content to be left alone." Her words betrayed none of the strain in her composure that had near broken shortly before.

Biting my tongue to prevent the words from tumbling past my lips as they sprang to mind, _"You cannot keep lying to yourself."_ I nodded instead and returned to my kettle where it rested at the edge of the fire coals, remaining warm.

I silently mused to myself, _"She is walking a perilous path if she considers denying her humanity while scrabbling to take hold of an old power she could not hope to understand."_

Troubled, I allowed myself to partake of the tea that I had initially only intended for Letha to ensure her slumber. These times made taking up my mantle far more dangerous, but I was out of safe options. Too many depended on the outcome for me to quail now. I had to seek answers, regardless of the danger incurred.

Clutching my figure stone in my hand, I drifted to sleep, embraced by the soothing warmth of the tea as it seeped into my very bones.

_I became aware of the Fade as it transfigured around me in a washed out, brown landscape. Opening my eye, I acclimated myself to the scenery. Seated on its haunches opposite me was the Wolf with his usual enigmatic expression, though his air was somewhat restless._

_ "I expected you to come long before this, Mountain Mother," he stated gravely, his usual riddling absent, erased I suspect by the gravity of the situation as it unfolded before us all._

_ "I do not walk lightly here, as you well know, Cunning One," I returned, "There is much evil abroad and it makes the borders thin. What stalks these climes has gained more potency as a result. Many mortals are trapped, unable to wake, and are easy prey here. The only way to ensure not being ensnared is to not walk where the traps lie."_

_ "I am aware," he growled, sounding chagrined to be lectured so by me._

_ "Why would you tarry hereabouts, waiting for me?" I inquired._

_ "You anchored a man recently, giving him passage beyond the borders that would normally be impassable for mortals without magic. He was…unusual…ptarmigan-touched if you will."_

_ "Ptarmigan-touched?" I questioned, intrigued by the phrase and wanting to know what it portended._

_ "You know the old tale as surely as I: how the Mountain Father banished his heart, how it was retrieved at the Lady of the Skies' bidding by the humble bird that could not sing nor fly, how it was returned to save all...the point is this: though he is small he is greater than he appears." The intensity of the words startled me almost as much as the fact that they were spoken by the Wolf who rarely exaggerated._

_ "Could it be possible?" I breathed._

_ The Wolf grinned toothily with that, "These are strange times. Such times I thought were long past, never to be seen again. Though it is troubling, it is also entertaining. I wish to have conference with this man again."_

_ "What would you have with him? I will not hand him over to you to be abused by your whims," I answered sternly, "He has been under my protection and I am bound to his well being. I have yet to forget what you are, Fen'Harel."_

_ "I have no desire to toy with him, I swear my intentions are benign," the Dalish Trickster reassured me, though I was not fully convinced, "My word has ensnared me and I find that I am out of my depth. Such a man could aid me and I could aid him."_

_ "You are not one to make empty promises or to put yourself at a disadvantage. Who have you bound yourself to that you are suddenly ensnared? This seems quite unlikely." _

_The Wolf tensed at these words, lowering his head and looking at me cautiously, as if suddenly I had become the predator and he the prey. He proceeded after a moment's pause, "I was engaged by the Lady to safeguard your chick. I have…lost her to the Armored Man, enthralled by a Wastrel Spirit that grows more powerful. He has developed a concupiscence that borders on mania. His purpose I cannot comprehend or predict. She was addled by a spring that spewed from rock but was laced with that which is both benefit and bane."_

"_Lyrium," I nodded grimly, my throat tight at the though of Mae in peril, "The water from the ground has been tainted. How bad?"_

"_She took enough that it did not harm her life and she should recover her wits, but it was enough to put her at a disadvantage. She had escaped only to be recaptured by the Armored Man by way of the road. While I could shadow her initially, the Wastrel will not allow me to draw near. He holds sway over the Armored Man and she is at his mercy. I have not the power to engage the Wastrel unless his thrall is defeated, thereby starving the one that feasts on him. Even engaging the Armored Man in the waking world is tricky for me."_

"_Why? You possess the power to move at will from one side to the other as if you carry a private bridge with you. If the thrall is mortal and it benefits you to dispose of him to reach your quarry, then why not move directly?"_

_The Wolf grinned, "Normally you would not encourage me to plod upon your soil, Mountain Mother. You are cautious and believe in balance above all else. What has changed that you would counsel me so?"_

_I narrowed my eyes at the beast, "I would not have you walk needlessly in my mountains for fear you would cause mischief, as you are often wont to do. As you have identified, the chick is my heart, my life. My love is not temperate, I realize, and I would have her safety assured above all else I fear. You are dangerous, I realize, but you are reasonable. That which we deal with here is a danger unbounded and growing. The lesser evil is that you walk amid my home."_

"_The Morsel is truly dear to many," the Wolf chuckled, "and it makes me curious. What could I do with a woman like that?"_

_The instantaneous flash that resulted was like azure lightning, where once the Wolf stood, he sprawled on his back, retching and thrashing as if something held him by the throat. My eyes narrowed and I stood over him, my entire being crackling with power, "Never EVER speak the like again, even in jest! I will not stay my wroth if such words are spoken. She is not for you or the whim of any other unhallowed spirit. I have permitted much, but my patience as of late has been sore tested. As the Lady is my witness, there will be a reckoning if you overstep yourself again!"_

_The Wolf turned his eyes to me and wheezed, struggling to sound meek, if only that I would withdraw my grip and release him, "I fear I have taken your good nature for granted. Pardon, Mountain Mother, I spoke without the root of my sense. It will not occur again, I swear!"_

_The crushing power eased and the Wolf flopped again upon the ground, drawing gasping breaths before chuckling weakly, "At times I forget you are one of the few favored mortals without magic and yet you can hold sway over the Fade, calling upon it to do your bidding. Not even Flemeth, in all her power, can accomplish that. She tiptoes here and there where you could stride openly and make the landscape dance. You could rule here and be a sister to the Lady. She favors you still…"_

"_Just because one has the ability to do something does not mean that one should use it. My gifts are not taken for granted and I use them sparingly lest I forget myself and risk them poisoning me. I cling not to faith with the old gods, neither you nor the others. You exist in your turn, but we are all dust in comparison to the greatness of the Matter Speaker. We were all made, save One, and only to Him do I allow full sway and masterdom. I know my place; see that you do not forget yours!"_

"_Peace, you need not preach. It was merely an observation. Your mood is particularly foul this eve. Is it only the Chick that worries you or is there more on your shoulders?" he wheedled this, trying to ingratiate himself again._

"_My Chick would be enough, but you are right. It is as if I carry the entirety of the Cauldron on my shoulders," I sighed, taking a seat on the ground, slumping slightly in my weariness, "Back to where we strayed in our speaking, what is your purpose with the man?"_

"_He can defeat the thrall, the Armored Man. I can provide him with the power that should help to tip the scales. In return, he would enable me to rid us of the troublesome Wastrel. Is that not fair?" the Wolf inquired, his muzzle curling into another smile._

_I shook my head, "If I can judge his measure, he will aid my Chick without your power. If he is Ptarmigan-touched as you claim, he requires no aid from you and, furthermore, he would never accept it. Regardless of whether he will or he won't, I am unable to discern where he is for he was taken captive and is housed in places unknown."_

_The Wolf was chuffing in a breathy chuckle, "He is not far beyond your bound. Your ways are winding towards him. You will overtake him soon. Be not dismayed, Mountain Mother. If he is as you say, we may yet keep hope and I may yet meet my obligation to the Lady."_

"_There is another issue which I would discuss before I depart," I sighed, "There is one who seeks an item of power in these mountains. Know you of what she seeks?"_

"_There are many items of power known to me, some long forgotten to the recollections of all things mortal. What means this seeker with this supposed relic?" He drawled, crossing his forepaws congenially, cocking his head._

"_It is my belief that she is being stalked and it is her hope to be able to defend herself from the threat the stalker poses, whether the danger is real or imagined…" I explained._

"_Who is the stalker, then?" The Wolf prodded._

"_Flemeth."_

_He shook his head, "Who is this seeker that she should find the means to fight when the wise would sooner fly? I fear not Flemeth, but she is formidable and rarely hunts that which she cannot catch. This seeker should either embrace her fate or seek shelter where Flemeth would refuse to tread."_

_These last words intrigued me, "Where would Flemeth refuse to tread?"_

_He smiled again, "That information comes with a price, Mountain Mother, not to mention that the compasses necessary to travel such ways are dear. Who is this seeker to you?"_

"_She is my mirror in younger days past, Fen'Harel. I owe her nothing, but I would wish for her to match my years," I whispered, suddenly feeling very old._

"_Then make me an offer, Mountain Mother…"_

"_**Dealing with the unknown is like walking in a dark place with a lantern held aloft, edging forward with faltering steps and peering blindly into the murk. When it is a path you have walked before, the darkness is irrelevant. Only in the darkness of the unknown can you truly understand how small you are…and how brave you have it in you to be."**_


	89. Interlude 29: Vision of Consummation

_**Interlude 29: Vision of Consummation**_

_**From the Journal of Ser Helyas Manning**_

_**Knight Commander of the Maferian Templars**_

_ She is both temptation and salvation. We cannot exist in harmony and yet I would die without her. I would perish without that which feeds me. She makes me weak with want and yet she tempers me like steel. She enflames my senses with rage and passion, yet the flames drive me forward to my holier desires. She is polluted in her baseness but pure in my aspiration._

_ I must resist the corruption she represents and yet I relish the small pleasures of looking on her. In my mind my hands have wandered her lushness. In my fleeting fancies I have tasted her nectar. In my mind's eye I possess her, body and soul. She is both promise and profanity. _

_ In my visions I become the roaring inferno that consumes the birch trees, curling back their pale skin with the licking of scorching tongues. It is the oneness of conflagration and object of consumption. One is destroyed feeding the will of the other, providing blazing illumination and searing warmth._

_ I know what I must do and will not falter, yet I know that with her absence there will be ash and emptiness. It is only when the soil has been cleared of the weeds that the good crops will grow. If it were not a sacrifice, would the Maker even accept it?_

_ I am resolved._

_ The world must burn so that it can be purified and remade, prepared for the footsteps of the Maker. He will make his new seat and build a new Golden City among his faithful. From the ash all mankind will be re-born without the taint._


End file.
